“Then I say it’s too bad,” cried Smith. “As the snob speakers say, are we—er—serlaves? Besides, ‘a man’s a man for a’ that,’ ain’t he, Tanner?”
“Chinamen have no business abaft the funnel,” said Barkins. “Did he give it to you very warmly, Gnat?”
“Pretty well,” I said, glad to escape Smith’s examination. “I wasn’t sorry to get out of the cabin.”
“No, I should think not. Why, what’s come to the old boy—taking to bully us himself? I thought he always meant to leave that to Dishy.”
“He’s getting wild at not catching the pirates, I suppose,” said Barkins. “Then all that badger gets bottled up in him, and he lets it off at us. Well, I don’t see any fun in watching the fire; I’m going down for a snooze.”
“Wish I could,” said Smith. “The fellow who invented night-watches ought to have been smothered. I daresay he was a man who had something the matter with him and couldn’t sleep. I hate it.”
“Pooh!” cried Barkins, laughing. “You haven’t got used to it yet, old chap. It’s an acquired taste. After a bit you won’t care a dump for a regular night’s rest, but’ll want to get up and take your turn. Won’t he, Gnat?”
I laughed.
“I haven’t got the right taste yet,” I said.
“And never will,” grumbled Smith, as we turned to have another look at the burning barque.