“Why, the ironwork’s heavy and might break the pottery,” he said at last.
“Well, won’t it break that light carriage, you double-distilled, round-headed wise man of the west, you! Put the heavy goods at the bottom and the light at the top.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” shouted the man. “Bear a hand, lads. Now, then.”
He unhooked the tackle and attached another great package, while the tall man turned again upon Mark.
“Did you hear what I said about that dog?”
“Yes, I heard,” said Mark; “but he’s coming part of the way.”
“That he is not, my lad, so off you go!”
“Hullo, youngster!” said a cheery voice; and Mark turned sharply, to find the little squatty sailor before him, in tarry trousers and flannel shirt, bare-headed and heated with work.
“Hullo, Widgeon!” cried Mark.
“Hullo, shipmet!” cried the little sailor. “Now, then, just you mind, or—”