“You’ve given me a bad night, young fellows,” said the skipper, as he stood looking on at the lads enjoying their morning meal, one over which the Camel seemed to have taken extra pains, showing his large front teeth with a smile of satisfaction as he brought it in relays of newly-made hot cakes, before retiring to slip fresh slices of bacon in the pan.
“Yes, father,” said Poole; “but see what a night we had!”
“Ah, but yours was merely physical, my boy; mine was mental.”
“I thought ours was both; eh, Burnett?” said Poole, laughing.
“Oh, yes, it was,” cried the middy. “You don’t know what a night we had, Captain Reed.”
“Well, I suppose you did not have a very pleasant time, my lads.—Oh, here’s Mr Burgess. Well, they don’t seem much the worse for it, do they? Nothing in sight?”
“No, nothing. I don’t think she could have followed us out. Have you any more to say to me about the course?”
“No,” said the skipper. “I think we pretty well understand about the bearings as given in the letter. The Don put it all down pretty clearly, and in very decent English too.”
Fitz looked up sharply, for the mention of the letter brought to mind the light fishing-boat with the bird-wing-like lateen sail and the rapidity with which the bearer of the despatch delivered it to the skipper and went overboard again.
Captain Reed noticed the boy’s inquiring look, and said quietly—