The captain turned upon the man fiercely, but it had not the slightest effect upon him, for he kept his cigar in his mouth and smoked away, as he drew out a key like that used for the boot of a coach, thrust it into one of the holes in the head, gave it a turn, and the head of the cask opened outward in two pieces which turned upon hinges; while as the first mate thrust forward the lanthorn he held, it was nearly knocked out of his hand by the skull-cap-covered head which shot up, sending a thrill of relief through the circle of lookers-on.
“Well, Dan, how goes it?” said the American.
The fresh arrival, who seemed to be a thin diminutive-looking fellow of any age, whose perfectly smooth face looked peculiarly yellow, planted his hands one on either side of the cask, sank down, and then sprang up again, cleverly passed his legs over the side and landed himself—as if shot out by a spring—upon the deck, where he stood shrinking from the light, yawned long and widely, and then said slowly:
“Oh, all right, boss. Bit hot and sleepy. What’s o’clock?”
“Time you and your precious master were over the side,” cried the captain angrily.
The man or boy, whichever he was, turned in the direction of the voice, blinking quickly in the faint rays of the lanthorn light as if even they dazzled him, and went on:
“Who’s him, boss?”
“That, Dan? That’s the captain.”
Brace burst into a hearty fit of laughter, in which his brother joined, and after a brief pause this was taken up by the two mates and followed by the men who were looking on.