Chapter Five.
Revenge by Deputy.
“Better, Steve?” said the captain, giving him a friendly nod; and without waiting for his answer, he went forward to where the engineer, who had nothing to do, was talking to the mate, and then they all went below into the engine-room.
One of the Norway men was at the wheel, the other sailors were in the forecastle, and there was no one to talk to; so Steve went forward, and was nearly abreast of the galley when Watty Links, the shock-headed boy, came out bearing a bucket of potato peelings and refuse, looking sour and sore, but as soon as he caught sight of Steve his face expanded into a broad grin, and, evidently in a high state of delight, he trotted to the side, turned the contents of the bucket overboard, and ran back into the galley, keeping his head averted as if to hide his mirth.
The blood flushed up into Steve’s cheeks, and he turned away, walking aft to watch the grey gulls which seemed to have arrived all at once, and were flying about in quite a crowd, making darts down to the surface to seize some fragment that was floating, amidst querulous screaming and the beating of wings.
It was a curious sight to see the rapidity with which a scrap of biscuit or fat was darted upon, and borne aloft by the hungry birds; but somehow in the grey cloud of feathers wheeling round and rising and falling above the glittering sea, Steve seemed to see the mocking face of Watty, who, smarting from the contempt with which he had been treated, snatched at the opportunity for triumphing over the other’s misfortune; and he could not have selected a way more likely to sting him than by a display of derision.
“Verra beautiful, Meester Young, isn’t it?” said a voice, and Steve turned sharply to find it was the Scottish sailor who had approached unheard.
“What, the sparkling sea, Andra?”