“A bit of what?” said Mark.
“Wheeling sacks, sir; what they fastens up letters with.”
“Oh, sealing wax,” cried Mark.
“Yes, sir, I said so—sealing wax, and stops up the holes with that. Jack didn’t taste that, and first time he cracks one o’ them bad uns he gets his mouth full o’ snuff, and there he was a-coughing and sneezing for ’bout half an hour, while as soon as he see as it was a trick, he jumps on my back and bites me in the neck, and runs away to get up in the rigging and swear—oh my eye, but he did swear!”
“Nonsense, Billy! a monkey can’t swear.”
“But he did, sir. He went on calling us all the names he could lay his tongue to in monkey, and whenever my mate give him nuts again, he used to crack ’em on the deck with a marline-spike. Then my mate used to try it on with other tricks, but I wouldn’t have it, and I’ve had no end o’ rows with my messmates on account o’ that little chap, for I’ve got to love him like a brother a’most—ah, more than you do your dog; but he’s that howdacious artful that I get ashamed on him. He aren’t got no more morals than a lobster, as would pinch his best friend’s finger off as soon as look at him.”
“And Jack bites you, then, same as he would anyone else?”
“More, sir; ever so much more. Why, I’m all over his bites.”
“And so you think he’s shamming?” said Mark.
“I’m sure of it, and I’m a-going to cure him.”