“What will you do?”
“Well, I shall try him easy-like at first, sir, and if that don’t do I shall try rope’s end.”
“No, no, do it by kindness, Billy,” said Mark.
“Well, that would be kindness, sir. Monkey’s only a monkey, but even a monkey ought to be taught to have some morals. You come along o’ me.”
Mark leaped down, and followed the little sailor back to where Jack was lying watching them; and as soon as they reached the spot, Billy bent down, placed his hands upon his knees, and poured forth a stream of the most voluble vituperation ever invented by man. He called the monkey all the lazy, idle, good-for-nothing swabs, lubbers, and humbugs possible, while the effect was droll in the extreme.
At first the little animal chattered at him, then he shook his head, then he grew angry, and at last curled himself up, covering his head with his long arms, and howled piteously.
“That’s a-touching of him up, sir,” said Billy. “He knows it, you see. Why, you miserable little black-faced, bandy-legged sneak,” he continued, addressing the monkey, “what’s in my mind is to—”
Woof!
Billy Widgeon made a bound, and caught a rope, by whose help he swung himself up into the rigging.
“Lay hold o’ that dog, Mr Mark, sir,” he cried.