“Then you’d better go and make the observations, and I’ll go down,” said Steve sulkily.
Johannes looked pained.
“You shall not do that,” he said gravely.
“Why not?”
“Because it would not be like what I, a Norseman, would expect to see in an English gentleman’s son.”
“Oh, I say,” cried Steve, “that’s hitting foul. But it’s too bad, Johannes, and I hate it. I might just as well be pulled up by the halyards.”
“When you have been as long at sea as I have,” said Johannes, with a calm, grave smile lighting up his fine, manly face, “you will not think it a hardship in a dangerous task to have a man at your side whom you can trust, and whom you can feel is ready to help you as long as he has a bit of strength.”
“Come along,” said Steve quickly; “the captain will be wondering why I don’t go up, and thinking I am afraid.”
“Oh no,” said the Norseman, smiling, “he will not think that of you, sir. There, I’m glad to be with you, Mr Steve; for it is bad climbing, and a slip up here would be very, very risky.”
“Yes, it is bad climbing,” said Steve, as he slowly mounted higher and higher, warning his companion, who kept close below him, when he was going to kick down some of the ice which encrusted the ropes.