He did not finish, but made a peculiar gesture as if he were about to pitch the dog over the side.
“Here, show this young gentleman the way ashore,” said the tall man. “Take the dog first.”
“No, thankye,” said the sailor grinning, “me and him’s friends now, aren’t we, shipmet? We won’t begin by falling out again.”
He stooped down and patted Bruff, who blinked up at him, and gave his bushy tail two wags, after which he walked slowly to the tall officer and began to smell his legs.
“Stop: don’t do that!” cried Mark, as he saw the officer draw back as if to deliver a kick.
“Nay, don’t you kick him, Mr Gregory, sir,” said Widgeon. “If you do, he’ll take hold; and I know this here sort, you can’t get them off again without a knife.”
“Are you Mr Gregory?” said Mark.
“Yes, sir, I am; and what then?” cried the mate angrily.
“My name is Strong, and I’m going with my father as far as Penzance.”
“You may go with your father as far as Shanghai if you like, young man,” said the mate angrily; “but I’m not going to have my deck turned into a kennel, so you’d better take your dog ashore.”