Mark walked up to him hastily as he stood near the gangway, talking to a custom-house officer.
“Oh, there you are! Look here, which is it—wasp or bee!”
“Wasp or bee, sir—which?”
The customs-officer laughed, and Mark coloured up, but Mr Gregory stood with his red nose shining and his pimply face as hard and cold as a statue’s.
“Which? Why, you—come aboard to idle or work?”
“I don’t know, sir. Can I do anything?”
“How should I know? I should say not, by the look of you. Will you try?”
“Yes, sir. I should be glad to,” cried Mark.
“Come, that’s better. Take that piece of chalk, and tally.”
“I—I don’t know how.”