“I can’t,” said Ram, shaking his head. “He can. Here, Jemmy, take hold of the painter and come aboard.”
“Stop!” cried the lieutenant, “you must not speak like that. You must ask leave, sir.”
“Ask who?” said Ram, vacantly.
“Touch your cap, and ask the lieutenant to let you.”
“Why, I have touched it twice. Want me to pull my hair off? I say, skipper, if you’ll let him come aboard—oh! He is aboard now,”—for Jemmy was already making the boat fast—“Here, give me a clean pail.”
The little commander of the cutter tried to look important, and Archy more so, but they forgot everything disciplinarian the next moment, in the interest of the proceedings, as Jemmy Dadd took the bucket handed to him, turned another up beside the side of the cow, and as he was sitting down, Dirty Dick dug his elbows into his messmates’ ribs right and left, whispered “Look out! And over he goes.” Then he drew in a long breath, ready for a roar of laughter when the bucket went flying, and stood staring waiting to explode.
But, to Dick’s great disappointment, Tally uttered a soft low, and began to swing her tail gently round, so as to give Jemmy a pat on the back. At regular intervals there was a whishing noise, then another whishing noise half a tone lower, then whish—whosh—whish—whosh, two streams of rich new milk began to pour into the bucket, whose bottom was soon covered, and a white froth began to appear on the top.
“I say!” cried Dick eagerly, “shall I lash her legs?”
“What for?” growled Jemmy.
“’Cause she’ll kick it over directly.”