Bob Roberts, a fair, good-looking, curly-headed lad of sixteen, was standing with his back leaned against the bulwarks, his cap thrust back, and his hands deep in his pockets, staring defiantly across the deck at a lad of about a year or so older, who, as he stood very stiff and upright by the cabin ladder, returned the stare with interest.
The latter had just buckled on his sword, and, in spite of the heat, buttoned up his undress coatee to the chin, ready for the short spell of drill which he knew would take place before the officers dined; and after giving the finishing-touch to his gloves, he rather ostentatiously raised his sword, then hanging to the full length of its slings, and hooked it on to his belt.
“What a jolly shame it is that we should only carry a beggarly little dirk,” said Bob Roberts to himself, as he tried to look sneeringly at the young ensign before him; for the latter came across the deck with rather a swaggering stride, and stood before the midshipman.
“Well, young Jack tar,” he said, with a touch of contempt in his tone.
“Well, young Pipeclay,” retorted the middy. “I say, how tightly you’ve laced your stays to-day. Mind where you go, or you’ll get some pitch on your lovely uniform. My word, how handsome you look!”
“I tell you what it is, Master Bob, or Robert Roberts,” said the young ensign, flushing, “if I did not feel that I was stooping by so doing, I should tell you that you were an impudent puppy of a boy, and give you a good caning.”
“No, no! please pray don’t do that, Mr Ensign Long, or Tom Long, or Long Tom, or whatever you call yourself,” retorted the middy, assuming an aspect of mock terror. “You frighten me into fits almost; and if you did try to cane me you’d split that coatee of yours all up the back, or break your staylace, or do yourself some mischief, and—”
Just then there was the sound of a bugle, followed by the tramp of feet; and the young officer, scowling fiercely, turned half-right, and as he did so let his sword down, so that the end of the scabbard might clatter against the white deck as he marched off to where the men were assembling, while the middy burst into a hearty laugh.
“You two gents is allus a quarrelling,” growled a wonderfully copper-faced old sailor, giving his lower jaw a twist. “You puts me in mind of the gamecocks as the Malay niggers we’re going amongst keeps, to strut up and shake out their hackles afore they has a set-to.”
“Well, he is so cocky, Dick,” said the middy, “and struts about, and—”