“Humph!” growled Rasp, “I do get the credit for that, then. Stopped the wind, indeed! Here, you nigger, just leave that pump alone.”
This last to ’Pollo, who was curiously inspecting the machine, and who strutted off with his opal eyes rolling and his teeth grinning indignation at being called a nigger.
“Well, Pugh,” said Mr Parkley, who so far had been able to restrain his impatience, but who longed to hear the result of the investigation, “I must congratulate you on your brave encounter with the shark.”
“And wanted me to haul you up,” growled Rasp.
“There was not much bravery in it,” said Dutch, who was now smoking as composedly as if nothing had occurred, while the water that had streamed from his india-rubber suit was fast drying on the sun-baked deck. “I was well-armed; my enemy was not.”
“Wasn’t he?” growled Rasp, giving a vicious rub at the helmet. “What do you call them teeth? But, then, we divers are not skeered about a shark or two.”
“Do you feel well enough to talk about your descent, Pugh?” said Mr Parkley.
“I feel well enough to go down again,” said Dutch smiling; “but this time I must have a sharp-pointed iron rod to probe the sand.”
“I’m a-going down next,” said Rasp. “It’s my turn.”
“But what is your opinion? What have you made out?” said Mr Parkley.