“What? Why, you miserable contemptible cub, say another word and I’ll rub your nose on the planks till you beg my pardon.”
“Another word, and a dozen other words, Bully Terry. Touch me, coward! I can’t help myself now; but if you lay a finger on me, I’ll get well and give you such a thrashing as the last shall be like nothing to it. You’ve got one of my marks still on your ugly nose. Now, touch me if you dare.”
“Why, hullo, Master Syd; that you?” said Barney, in his loudest voice, as he entered the place with a basin full of some steaming compound.
“Ha—ha—ha!” laughed Terry. “Here’s the nurse come with the baby’s pap. Did you put some sugar in it, old woman?”
“Nay, sir; no sugar,” said Barney, touching his hat; “but there’s plenty of good solid beef-stock in it, the cook says; stuff as ’ll rouse up Mr Belton’s muscles, and make ’em ’tiff as hemp-rope. Like to try ’em again in a fortnight’s time?”
“You insolent scoundrel! how dare you! Do you forget that you are speaking to your officer?”
“No, sir. Beg pardon, sir.”
“It is not granted. Leave this place, sir, and go on deck.”
“Don’t do anything of the kind, Strake,” cried Syd, who was calming down. “You are waiting on me.”
“Do you hear me, sir?” roared Terry again.