“That’s shuffling,” cried Fitz angrily, with the black clouds coming over the little bit of sunshine that lit up his face after his soup. “Now, sir, I order you to tell me, an officer in the Queen’s service, where this schooner is bound.”
Poole was silent. “Do you hear me, sir?”
“Oh yes, I hear,” said Poole, “but I am in a state of mutiny, and I’m going to ask old Butters to lend me his long line and hooks.”
He moved towards the door as he spoke, but Fitz shouted to him to stop.
It was all in vain, for the lad closed the door and shut in the midshipman’s angry face.
“Gone!” ejaculated Fitz. “He’s too much for me now; but only just wait till I get well and strong!”