“Don’t you believe him, Belt,” cried the little fellow, who had a withered, old-mannish look, and an exceedingly small nose, like a peg in the middle of his face. “Roy’s afraid of me. Look at that.”
He slipped off his coat, drew up his sleeve, and exhibited his muscle in a pugnacious fashion, which brought forth a roar of laughter.
“Baby Jenks fights best with his tongue,” said Roylance, coolly. “We shall have to cut it before he grows civil.”
The rattle of the chattering tongues went on till bedtime, and at last, for the first time in his life, Sydney found himself lying in a hammock, tired out but confused, and hardly able to realise that he was down below in a close place, with his face not many inches from the ceiling with its beams and rings. Talking was going on upon each side. The place was very dark, and there was a dim-looking lantern swinging some distance away in the middle of what seemed to be a luminous fog.
He lay there thinking that the hammock was not so very uncomfortable, only he did not feel quite at home with his head and heels high, and as every time he moved he felt as if he must fall, he at last lay very still, thinking how strange it all was, and how he seemed to be completely separated from his father, as much so as if they were in different ships.
Then after coming to the conclusion that he rather liked Roylance, but that he should never care for life aboard ship, the light from the lanthorn swung to and fro a little, and then all was perfectly black where it had hung the minute before.
This did not trouble Syd, for it seemed quite a matter of course that the light should be put out, and so he lay thinking over all that had passed that day—that he was glad Barney Strake and Pan were on board; that Roy lance seemed to be so friendly; then that he should have to stand up and meet Terry before very long and allow himself to be thrashed. Then he thought about nothing at all, for that pleasant, restful sensation that precedes sleep came over him, and all was blank till he felt a curious shock and was wide-awake.
“Here, hi! What’s the matter?” shouted a squeaky voice.
“I—I don’t know,” said Sydney, feeling about him and gradually realising that he was on the floor among his blankets. “I think the rope of my hammock has broken.”
There was an outburst of tittering at this, and now it began to dawn upon him that he was the victim of some trick.