“I am, I tell you.”
“Not you, lad. Nothing the matter with you;” and Barney winked to himself.
“Look here,” cried Syd, passionately, as he jumped up in his hammock, “you’re a stupid, obstinate old fool, so be off with you.”
“And you’re a midshipman, that’s what you are, Master Syd, as thinks he’s got the mumble-dumbles horrid bad, when it’s fancy all the time.”
“Do you want me to hit you, Barney?” cried Syd, angrily.
“Hit me? I should like you to do it, sir. Do you know I’m bo’sun of this here ship?”
“I don’t care what you are,” cried Syd. “You’re an unfeeling brute. An ugly old idiot, that’s what you are.”
“Oh! am I, sir? Well, what do you call yerself—all yaller and huddled up like a sick monkey in a hurricane. Why, I’d make a better boy out of a ship’s paddy and a worn-out swab.”
Syd hit out at him with all his might, striking the bo’sun in the chest, but overbalancing himself so that he rolled out of the hammock, and would have fallen had not Barney caught him in his arms and planted him on the deck.
“Hoorray! Well done, Master Syd; now then, on with these here stockings, and jump into your breeches. I’ll help you. On’y want a good wash and a breath o’ fresh air, and then—look here, I’ll get the cook to let you have a basin o’ soup, and you’ll be as right as a marlin-spike in a ball o’ tow.”