“I wish I hadn’t said it, Shaddy.”
“Ay, that’s what lots of us feels, sir, sometimes in our lives. I hit a man on the nose aboard a river schooner once, and knocked him through the gangway afterwards into the water, and as soon as I’d done it I wished I hadn’t, but that didn’t make him dry.”
“I wish he had turned round sharply and hit me,” said Rob.
“Ah, it’s a pity he didn’t, isn’t it?” said Shaddy drily. “You wouldn’t have hit him again, of course. You’re just the sort o’ young chap to let a lad hit you, and put your fists in your pockets to keep ’em quiet, and say, ‘Thanky,’ ain’t you?”
“What do you mean—that I should have hit him again?”
“Why, of course I do, and the next moment you two would have been punching and wrestling and knocking one another all over the boat, till Mr Brazier had got hold of one and I’d got hold of the other, and bumped you both down and sat upon you. I don’t know much, but I do know what boys is when they’ve got their monkeys up.”
“Don’t talk about monkeys,” whispered Rob hotly; “I wish there wasn’t a monkey on the face of the earth.”
“Wish again, Mr Rob, sir, as hard as ever you can, and it won’t do a bit o’ good.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Shaddy,” said Rob angrily.
“That’s right, sir; pitch into me now. Call me something; it’ll do you good. Call me a rhinoceros, if you like. It won’t hurt me. I’ve got a skin just as thick as one of them lovely animals. Go it.”