Mark would have given something to ask who “one on ’em” was, for the news seemed to have ruffled the mate terribly. A few minutes before he had been growing quite friendly; now he was as gruff as ever, finishing his steak viciously, and drinking his tea far hotter than was good for him.
“I’d like to trice them all up and give them the cat,” he exclaimed suddenly, and with so much emphasis that at the last magic word Bruff suddenly sprang into action, cocked his ears and tail, uttered a fierce growling bark, and then looked excitedly from one to the other, his eyes plainly enough asking the question “Where?”
“Get out with you, ugly!” cried the mate. “I meant the cat with nine tails, not the cat with nine lives. Here, young Strong, whatever you do, never take to being mate in the merchant service.”
He went out on deck, and Mark followed him, eager to see what was the matter; and as he passed out, it was to hear the second-mate say:
“I was coming after you; the poor wretch’s groans are awful.”
“Serve him right, the scoundrel! Government ought to interfere and put a stop to it.”
“But, my dear Gregory, hadn’t we better get the poor wretch out, and settle the government interference afterwards?”
“These men make me half mad,” cried the first-mate. “Where do you suppose he is?”
“A long way down, I’m afraid.”
“And we are behind with our lading. How can a man be such an idiot as to expose himself to such risks?” cried the first-mate.