“No, sir, not I,” said Billy, looking as serious as a judge and scratching his head the while.
“Then why did you talk like that?”
“I dunno, sor.”
“You don’t know, you scoundrel?”
“No, sir. I once lived in Ireland for a whole year, and we used to talk like that; and I suppose it was hearing you say Ayquator, sir, turned on the tap.”
Gregory turned away so as to ask the second-mate a question just then, and they both looked very red in the face as the major coughed, blew out his cheeks, and ended by clearing his throat and speaking as a drill-sergeant does.
“You’d better be careful, sir. Now, gentlemen,” he added, “suppose we go on.”
“I say, bosun,” said Billy, rubbing one ear until it was quite red, “what have I been a-doing of?”
“Getting your tongue in a knot, my lad. Come on.”
He led the way and Billy Widgeon followed, talking to himself and evidently thoroughly puzzled as to the meaning of the major’s attack.