“What did you do to the dog?” said the captain angrily.
“I never did nothing at all, sir. I only wanted my umbrella as I stood up in the corner. Soon as I went to take it he come at me, and if I hadn’t done Jacko and nipped up there he’d have had a piece out of my leg.”
As he spoke he went to take the umbrella from the corner, when, looking upon the movement as an attempt to carry out a robbery, Bruff uttered another savage growl aid struggled to get free.
“All, would yer!” cried Billy Widgeon, snatching up his umbrella and holding it by the toe in cudgel-fashion. “Now, then, youngster, lot him go. Come on, you ugly big-headed lubber. I’m ready for you now.”
As he spoke Billy Widgeon did Jacko, as he termed it, again, hopping about, flourishing his weapon, and giving it a bang down upon the floor after the fashion of a wild Irishman with his shillelagh.
It was a risky proceeding, for it infuriated the dog, who began to struggle fiercely, while Mark laughed so heartily that he could hardly retain his hold.
“That will do, Widgeon,” said the captain, wiping his eyes. “Here, Mark, make that dog friends with him.”
“Here, give me the umbrella,” said the lad.
“Nay, if I do you’ll let him go at me,” said the sailor doubtingly.
“Nonsense, man! Give him the umbrella,” cried the captain.