These few friendly advances from a messmate who seemed to be one of the most likely-looking for a companion, sent a feeling of warmth through the new-comer’s breast, and in spite of the coarseness of the provisions, which were eked out with odds and ends brought by the middies from the shore, Sydney made a fairly satisfactory meal, the better that Terry was on duty.
“But I’ve got to meet him some time,” thought Sydney; and he wondered how he would feel when he received that blow which was sure to come, and stamp him as one of the subordinates of the lad whom his new friend had dubbed the cock of the walk.
In spite of the novelty of everything about him, Syd had plenty of time to feel low-spirited, and to envy the light-heartedness of his new friend, who in the course of the evening seemed to feel that further apology was due for their first encounter that day.
“I say, Belton,” he said, “I am sorry I played you those tricks and sided with Terry as I did. It was all meant for a game. We have such a rough, uncomfortable life here that one gets into the habit of making fun of everything and everybody, from the captain downwards.”
“Don’t say any more about it,” replied Sydney, holding out his hand. “I’m not such a milksop that I mind it.”
“That’s right,” cried Roylance, grasping the extended hand. “You’ll soon be all right with us.”
“Hi! look there,” cried a squeaky-voiced little fellow at the end of the table; “there’s old Roy making friends with the new fellow. I say, Belt, don’t you believe him. He’ll want to borrow money to-morrow.”
Bang!
“No, you didn’t,” cried the little middy, who had ducked cleverly and avoided half a loaf which Roylance threw at his head and struck the bulkhead instead.
“You’ll have to be stopped, Jenkins,” said Roylance. “You’ve got off so far because you are such a miserable little beggar.”