“There, what did I say, Tommy?” growled Wriggs. “Let him have it all.”
“Look-ye here, messmate, are you a-goin’ to tell the story, or am I?”
“Well, you’d better go on, Tommy, as you began it, on’y you gets driftin’ to the lee so, instead o’ sailin’ ahead.”
“Look here, you’d better do it yoursen,” cried Smith.
“No, no, go on, man,” said Oliver.
“All right, sir,” grumbled Smith. “Well, Billy Wriggs says as he was sure he come there to feed of a morning, and pick up the wurms, and that if we got up early and waited there, we should see my gentleman again. So we says nothin’ to nobody, did we, Billy?”
“Not a word, messmate.”
“And gets there very early nex’ morning, but he’d got there afore us, and Chuck, he says, and away he went, ’fore I’d time to think o’ shootin’ at him. But never mind, I says, I will be ready for yer to-morrer mornin’, and we gets there much sooner, and waited in the dark. We hadn’t been there more’n a minute before we know’d he’d been afore us, for we could hear him querking an’ cherking to himself all in a low tone, just as if he was a-saying, ‘There’s a couple o’ chaps hangin’ about to get a look at my feathers, and I just aren’t goin’ to let ’em.’”
“Yes, it were just like that,” said Wriggs, giving his head an approving nod.
“Ay, it weer, Billy, and my heye, sir, how we two did try to get a glimpse of him. But bless yer ’art, sir, it was that dark as never was. He didn’t mind, for we could hear him flickin’ about in the trees, and flying down on the ground, and then makin’ quite a flutter as he went up again, and talkin’ to hissen all the time about us.”