“What, yer laughing at me, are yer? Just you wait till I gets a few yards o’ dackylum stuck about me, and you’ll get that rope’s-end yet, Pan-y-mar.”
“Oh, no! I shan’t,” said Pan in a whisper, after glancing at the lieutenant, who was lying with his eyes closed. “You’ll be bad for two months.”
“What? Why, you sarcy young lubber, if the luff warn’t a-lying there and I didn’t want to wake him, I’d give yer such a cuff over the ear as ’d make yer think bells was ringing.”
“Couldn’t reach,” said Pan, dabbing his face.
“Then I’d kick yer out of the door.”
“Yah!” grinned Pan. “Can’t kick. I see yer brought in, and yer couldn’t stand.”
“Keep that water out o’ my eye, warmint, will you,” whispered the boatswain. “Water’s too good to be wasted. Give us a drink, boy.”
Pan rose and dipped a pannikin full of the cool water from a bucket, and held it to his father’s lips.
“Wouldn’t have had no water if it hadn’t been for me coming ashore,” he said.
“Ah, you’ve a lot to boast about. Just you pour that in properly, will yer; I want it inside, not out.”