“Old stuff, sir. Been used for the bales o’ ’bacco, I s’pose,” said the furtive-looking man.
“Humph. And so you have made a bed of it, eh? Let’s have a look.”
The perspiration stood on Don’s forehead.
“Well,” said the bluff man, “why don’t you get up? Quick!”
He took a step nearer Don, and was in the act of stooping to take him by the arm, when there was a hail from below.
“Ahoy!” shouted the sailor, bending over the trap-door.
“Wants Mr Jones,” came up.
“Luff wants you, sir,” said the man.
“Right. There, cheer up, my lads; you might be worse off than you are,” said the bluff visitor pleasantly. Then, clapping Don on the shoulder, “Don’t sulk, my lad. Make the best of things. You’re in the king’s service now, so take your fate like a man.”
He nodded and crossed to the trap.