“Now then,” he growled, “what’s this here?”
“Pan hit me, and I’m dressing him down,” panted Sydney. “Here, let go, Barney.”
“Master Syd hit me first, father,” panted the red-faced boy.
“Howld your tongue, warmint, will you,” said the man in a deep growl. “Want to have me chucked overboard, and lose my bit o’ pension. You’re allus a-going at your pastors and masters.”
“Hit me first,” remonstrated the boy, as the new-comer gave him a shake.
“Well, what o’ that, you ungrateful young porpuss! Hasn’t the cap’n hit me lots o’ times and chucked things at me? You never see me flyin’ in his face.”
“Chucked a big apple at me first,” cried the boy in an ill-used tone.
“Sarve you right too. Has he hurt you much, Master Sydney?”
“No, Barney; not a bit. There, I was wrong. I didn’t know he was there when I threw the apple. I only did it because I felt vicious.”
“Hear that, you young sarpint?” cried the square-shouldered man.