I climbed in, and old Teggley drew out the corners of his lips and grinned as if he was glad that Bob Chowne was so miserable. For Bob did not move, only sat with his hands supporting his face, staring down before him, bent, miserable, and dejected.
“What’s the matter, Bob?” I said, trying to be cheerful. “Got the toothache?”
“Yes,” he said sourly, “all over.”
“Get out! What is it? Father made you take some physic?”
“Yes, pills. Verbum nasticusis, and bully draught after.”
“What! Has he been scolding you?”
“Scolding me! He never does anything else. I sha’n’t stand it much longer. I shall run off to sea and be a cabin-boy.”
“Hi, hi, hi!”
“What are you laughing at?” snapped Bob, turning sharply upon old Teggley.
“At you, Mars Bob Chowne, going for a cabin-boy.”