“Yes, sir, it were all that; and when it was alive it must have been fifty foot at least.”
“Why, Dick?”
“Cause they stretches out so, sir, just like worms in the garden at home do.”
“Gammon, Dick. Serpents don’t stretch.”
“Don’t stretch, sir! Just you wait till you get a thirty-footer twissen and twining round you, and see if they don’t stretch.”
“All right, Dick; and when he does, you come and pinch his tail, and make him open his mouth; and when he does that you pop in a bit of your nasty tobacco, and he’ll leave off, and go like a shot.”
The old sailor chuckled, and said something about Mister Bob Roberts being a nice boy, while the party in question walked aft to see the company of soldiers on deck put through half-an-hour’s drill, making a point of staring hard and derisively at the young ensign, who saw the lad’s looks, grew angry, from growing angry became confused, and incurred the captain’s anger by giving the wrong order to the men, some of whom went right, knowing what he ought to have said, while others went wrong, and got the company hopelessly confused.
The result was that Ensign Long, of her Majesty’s somethingth foot, was severely snubbed, just as Mr Linton the resident, and his daughter Rachel Linton, were looking on.
“I wouldn’t have cared if they had not been there,” said Ensign Long to himself; “but if I don’t serve that little wretch of a middy out for this, my name is not Long.”