“Oh yes, we’ve got all these little necessaries. Father goes on the Volunteer system: ‘Defence, not Defiance.’”
“Well, that’s defiant enough,” said Fitz. “It’s like saying, ‘You’re not coming aboard here,’ in string.”
“Of course. You don’t suppose we want a set of half Indian, half Spanish mongrel sailors taking possession of the Teal? You wait till we get aboard, and you’ll see all our lads busy with the fleas.”
“Busy with the fleas?” said Fitz. “What do you mean?”
“Those father talked about, to put in the Don’s ears before we send them back.”
“How can you go on making poor jokes at a time like this?” said the middy, in a tone of annoyance. “Why, it looks as if we are in for a serious fight.”
“As if we are!” said Poole, emphasising the “we.”
“How many more times am I to tell you that it is our game and not yours?”
“But look here,” said Fitz excitedly. “Your father really does mean to fight?”
“My father does, and so does every one else,” replied Poole. “In oars, my lads,” and the next moment the mate hooked on close to the gangway. “I suppose,” continued Poole, “you will stop on deck till the row begins? You will want to see all you can.”