“You do not understand the drift of my remarks.”
“’Fraid not, sir,” said the master, smiling; “understand drift of the tide much better.”
“Mr Gurr!”
“Yes, sir.”
“I was trying to teach you to pronounce the king’s English correctly, and you turn it off with a ribald remark.”
“Beg pardon, sir. ’Nother o’ my frigate bad habits.”
“It is a great privilege, Mr Gurr, to be one of those who speak the English tongue, so do not abuse it. Say awk-ward in future, not awk’ard.”
“Certainly, sir, I’ll try,” said the master; and then to himself, “Starboard, larboard, for’ard, back’ard, awk’ard. Why, what does he mean?”
By this time the little lieutenant was scanning the cliffs again, and the master took off his hat and wiped his forehead.
“Talk about thistles and stinging nettles,” he muttered, “why there’s no bearing him to-day, and all on account of a scamp of a middy such as there’s a hundred times too many on in the R’yal Navy. Dunno though; bit cocky and nose in air when he’s in full uniform, and don’t know which is head and which is his heels, but he aren’t such a very bad sort o’ boy. Well, what’s the matter with you?”