“Who’s a-going to, Mr Mark, sir?” said Bob gruffly. “You asked us how we liked Africa, and we only as good as said we didn’t like it a tiny bit. We arn’t a-going to play the sneak; are we, Peter?”
“Not us,” grunted Dance. “I shouldn’t like to go and tell Sir James that; should you, Bob?”
“No–o!”
“Come along, Dean,” said Mark, turning from the men; and the boys walked away. “Let’s get indoors. I don’t know what’s come to me; I feel as if I could quarrel with everybody. Let’s go in and see if father’s awake yet.”
“Why, you can’t quarrel with him,” said Dean, staring in wonder at his cousin.
“Well, who said I could, stupid? Do you want to make me quarrel with you?”
“Yes, if you like. I feel as if a nice row would do me good. I’m miserable. It’s been a wretched voyage, bad weather all the time, and uncle cross, and the doctor wishing—I could see he was—nearly all the time, that he had never said a word about travelling; and now after longing to get to land we have been set down here.”
“Well,” said Mark, “you are a nice fellow to try and cheer one up! I had just said a word or two about how wretched I was and how I felt, and then you begin quarrelling.”