“I didn’t speak,” I replied drowsily.
“Who said you did? Oh, I remember now. Tom Jecks’ll set up for boss—know—all now. Look here—you help me, and we’ll gammon him into—be—believing—he ought to make an alma—alma—nick—nack,”—snore.
Barkins was fast asleep, and I was just thinking how suddenly a drowsy person dropped off, when all at once I seemed to be back in the cabin of the burned ship, where I was searching the lockers for pirates, and then some one hauled me out of my berth by one leg, and I raised myself on my elbow to stare wildly at Smith.
Chapter Nine.
Preparations.
“At last!” he cried. “I began to think your eyelids were sewed up. Dress yourself, sir; do you hear? Do you suppose that the junior officers of the Teaser are kept here on purpose to set a bad example to the men?”
“Breakfast ready?” I said, yawning.
“Of course it is, sir. Kidneys and fried soles done to a shade. Fresh water-cresses, hot rolls, and all kinds of don’t-you-wish-you-may-get-’ems, waiting. I say, look at old Tanner. Let’s rouse him up.”