“What is it?” said Nic, for the man stopped.
“Well, sir, you know; and it goes hard on a chap as is doing his dooty and wants to keep things straight.”
“I still don’t understand you, Solly,” said Nic.
“Well, sir, it’s all along o’ that there chap, Pete: you never ketch me a-talking to him, and giving him a bit o’ good advice about what the skipper likes done, but you grins.”
“Grins?”
“Oh, it’s no use to make believe, Master Nic, because you do, and it hurts.”
“They were not grins,” said Nic. “I only smiled because I was glad to see you two such good friends.”
“Ho!” ejaculated Solly; “that was it, sir? I thought you was grinning and thinking what an old fool I was.”
“Nothing of the sort.”
“Well, I’m glad o’ that, Master Nic, though it do seem a bit queer that I should take a lot o’ notice of a feller as fought agen us as he did. But we aren’t friends, sir.”