“To be sure—yes—of course,” said the lieutenant. “On one condition, Roberts, you can have it.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Two conditions, I should say,” replied the lieutenant. “The boat is to be properly cleaned afterwards, and we are to have a dish of fresh fish for the gun-room dinner.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Bob, laughing, “if I catch them.”
“You must catch them,” said the lieutenant. “Ah, I remember the days when I used to be fond of going up the Thames fishing, and—there, be off with you as soon as you like.”
The first lieutenant smiled as he felt that he had been about to prose over his old days; and Bob having obtained leave for Dick to be his companion, and to manage the boat if he should elect to go up or down the river, instead of lying astern hitched on to a ring-bolt, was soon over the side, with plenty of hooks and lines and bait.
“This here’s a rum sorter game, Mr Roberts, sir,” said old Dick, as soon as he had fastened the boat’s painter to a ring in the stem part of the great steamer. “I’m afraid I shan’t be strong enough for the job.”
Dick glanced at the great muscles in his sun-browned arms with a smile of pride, and then stared at the middy, who turned upon him sharply.
“Now look here, old Dicky,” he said, “you’ve come here to manage the dinghy for me, and not to preach and drive away all the fishes. So just light your pipe and sit still and hold your tongue, and if I find you are not strong enough to do that, I’ll hail the steamer, and ask them to send me down another hand.”
Old Dick chuckled and grinned, and without more ado took out and filled a short black pipe, which he lit with a burning glass, and then sat contentedly sucking at it, while Bob, who had provided himself with a bamboo about ten feet long—a natural fishing-rod in one piece—fitted on a thin line, baited his hook, and began to fish in the deep stream.