Mark stood staring as the mate walked away to give some orders in an angry tone to another gang of sailors working aft. Then he shouted a command to some men busy in the rigging; while, when Mark turned his head, it was to find Billy Widgeon patting the dog, and smiling up at him.
“He’s a bit waxy to-day. Just going outer dock into the river, and there’s a lot o’ work to be done.”
“But I thought my father was captain of this ship?” said Mark.
“So he is, youngster, but old Greg does what he likes when the skipper aren’t aboard. Oh, here is the skipper!”
“Ah! Mark, my lad, here you are then. So you’ve brought the dog?”
“Yes, father, and—”
“Where’s Mr Gregory?”
“Over yonder, sir,” said Billy Widgeon. “Pst!” he whispered to Mark, “say somewhat about the dog.”
“Do you want him to stay then?” said Mark.
“Stop! Sartin I do. Why, theer’ll be him and old Jack, and they’ll have no end of a game aboard when theer’s a calm. There, the skipper’s gone to old Greg, and you aren’t said a word.”