“And I would not willingly hurt your feelings.”
“Hah!”
“But I hold in great respect the people who dwell in yon house, and I will not have them in anywise annoyed.”
“Then I wouldn’t go coming the Spanish Don, under their windows o’ nights,” growled Wat.
“Silence, sir,” cried Gil.
As he spoke, the young man’s face flushed with shame and mortification at being twitted with his amorous passages, but there was a look of command and an imperious tone in his voice that told of one accustomed to be obeyed, and the great lank muscular man, tanned and hardened by a life of exposure, shuffled uneasily in his seat and let his little pipe go out.
“If it had been another man, Wat,” continued Gil, “I should have given him a week in irons for daring to go near the place.”
“What! after his skipper set an example?” growled Wat.
“Silence, sir,” roared Gil, catching the old fellow by the shoulder. “Bah!” he continued, calming down, “Why do you anger me, Wat?” and he loosed his hold.
“Oh, haul away, young ’un,” growled Wat, with a grim smile, “you don’t hurt me. I like to see what a sturdy young lion you’ve grown. That’s your father, every inch of him, as did that. Hah! he was a one.”