“We’re not friends yet,” he said to himself, with a curious, regretful feeling troubling him; and as he went forward to get one of the men to fill him a bucket of water for his morning bath, for the first time since leaving England he felt dismal and low-spirited.
“Morning, sir!” said Shaddy. “Mr Joe not wakened yet?”
“No.”
“Did you two make friends ’fore you went to sleep?”
“No, Shaddy.”
“Then I lay tuppence it wasn’t your fault. What a pity it was you let your tongue say that about the monkey!”
“Yes, Shaddy,” said Rob as he plunged his head into the pail and had a good cool sluice. “I wish I hadn’t now. It was a great pity.”
“True, sir, it was. You see, there ain’t no room in a boat for quarrelling, and if it came to a fight you’d both go overboard together and be eaten by the fish afore you knew where you were. And that would not be pleasant, would it?”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Shaddy,” said Rob shortly as he plunged his head into the bucket again.
“Certinly not, sir,” replied the man seriously. “You see, I know how it would be as well as can be. ’Talian lads don’t fight like English lads. They can’t hit out straight and honest, but clings and cuddles and wrastles. Soon as ever you began he’d fly at you, and tie his arms and legs about you in knots, and hamper you so that you couldn’t keep your balance, and as there’s no room in the boat, you’d be ketching your toe somewhere, and over you’d go. If I were you, Mr Rob, sir, I wouldn’t fight him.”