“Then he must be taught to think sensibly, my lad. Billy Widgeon’s one of my best fore-mast men, and I can’t afford to have my sailors used to feed your dog.”
“You’re joking, father.”
“Ah! but that would be no joke,” said the captain. “I should not approve of his devouring the lowest and most worthless class of tramp, or a savage; but when it comes to sailors—”
“What nonsense, father!” cried Mark.
“Why, Mark, my boy, what a good idea! I think I’ll borrow that dog and take him to sea.”
“Take him to sea, father?”
“Yes: he would be a treasure at clearing the deck of unwelcome visitors—Chinamen or Malays.”
“What, pirates?”
“Well, men who would be pirates if they dared: the low-class scoundrels who haunt some of the ports.”
“All right, father! you shall have him,” said Mark.