“Tat’s ferry pad language, Meester Steve Young, sir. Ton’t you try to imitate ta gran’ Gaelic tongue, pecause she can never to it. She’d have to pe porn north o’ Glasgie to speak ta gran’ Gaelic tongue proper.”
“Then you shouldn’t be so obstinate,” said Steve, somewhat abashed.
“Call that dog down, my lad,” cried the captain, “or he’ll be overboard!”
For Skene had leaped up on the bowsprit, made his way from there on to the bulwarks, and was running along the top wherever it was clear of rope or shroud, barking with all his might at the astonished birds which came wheeling round the ship, swooping so low at times that they nearly brushed the dog with their long grey wings, making him snap at them vainly.
But the intense excitement produced by the change to warmth and sunshine seemed to border on a kind of rollicking madness; and bubbling over with fun Skene turned quite mutinous, barking as if derisively in response to every call, and evading Steve as he chased him, the boy running along the deck and making dashes at the dog, who avoided him by his superior activity, till, getting at last quite close, Steve made a snatch at his quarry’s hind leg and grasped it firmly. Almost at the same instant Skene made a bound, dragged his leg away, and came down in a double astride upon the top of the bulwark, tried to recover himself, got upon his legs, again slipped, nearly went overboard, but saved himself by another leap, and came down upon the deck flop. Before he could get up Steve was upon him, holding by the long hair of the animal’s neck. Then there was a sharp struggle, in which the boy won, and Skene turned his head round, looked up in his master’s face, and uttered a pitiful howl, the cry and the way in which it was uttered seeming so wonderfully human and so thoroughly to express the dog’s ideas, “Oh, what a shame, when I was enjoying myself so!” that Steve burst into a fit of laughing.
“C’ssss! Bite him then,” came from the door of the galley, and Steve looked sharply round to see Watty’s head just outside the door, and the movement made him slacken his hold of the dog.
Wuph!
One deep utterance, half growl, half bark. Skene was free, and Steve on his side, while the dog charged right at Watty, striking the door heavily with his fore paws, as the cook’s new assistant snatched his head inside and pulled the door to.
“Serve you right!” muttered Steve, gaining his feet. “Quiet, Skeny! Down!”
For the dog was gazing up at the spot where Watty’s head had disappeared, and growling fiercely.