“I say, take care. Recollect you have not quite got your strength up again. Mind you don’t fall.”
“May I inquire what you mean?” said Fitz haughtily.
“Of course. I mean, take care you don’t tumble off the stilts now you have got on to them again.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the boy.
“Well, what’s the good of going on like that, sulking and pretending you are a prisoner?”
“There’s no pretence in that,” said Fitz bitterly.
“Yes, there is,” retorted Poole quickly. “It’s all shammon and gam—I mean, gammon and sham. You are no more a prisoner than I am. Why, even father says you seem to be riding the high horse. I suppose you do feel a bit awkward about coming on deck amongst the men, after going through that—I mean, after what happened.”
“Oh, say it!” cried Fitz angrily. “After going through that performance, you meant.”
“I am not going to argue and fence. Look here, you have got to face the men, so why not make a plunge and do it? You think the lads will be winking and exchanging glances and whispering to one another, when all the time there’s only one body on board the Teal who gives all that business a thought, and that’s you. Tchah! Sailors have no time to think about what’s past. They have always got to keep a sharp look-out for the rocks ahead. You are such a sensitive chap. Come on up, and let’s have a turn at fishing.”
“Is your father quite well again?” said Fitz, without heeding his companion’s proposal.