“Keep him, and make a pet of him, Dick,” said the middy, holding out a lump of sugar to the subject of their conversation.
“No, sir, that wouldn’t do. The skipper wouldn’t stand it; and besides, if the monkey was mine the chaps would lead him such a life, teaching him to smoke tobacco and drink grog. Will you have him, sir?”
“No, Dick,” was the reply. “I’ve no money to spend on monkeys.”
“I didn’t mean that, sir,” said Dick. “I meant it for a present for the doctor. Will you have him as a present, and take care of him?”
“Of course I will, Dick, but I don’t like taking it.”
“Why, bless your ’art, Mr Roberts, sir, you’d be doing me a kindness by taking of it. You take it, and you can larn him all sorts of tricks. Why, look at the pretty crittur, how he takes to you!”
“Pretty crittur, indeed!” cried Bob. “You mean how he takes to the sugar. Here, come along, old man. Come, rouse up.”
To Bob’s surprise the monkey got up, and came close to him, while upon Dick making a motion as if to refasten the chain, the animal snarled and snapped at him.
“There now, look at that,” cried Dick. “You see you’ll have to take it, Master Roberts, sir.”
“I’ll take him for a day or two,” said Bob; “but I expect the skipper won’t let me keep it.”