“Him and me’s going to have a regular set-to some day, Mas’ Don. He makes me feel warm, and somehow that bit of a row has done me no end o’ good. Here, come on deck, and let’s see if he’s telling tales. Come on, lad. P’r’aps I’ve got a word or two to say as well.”
Don had not realised it before, but as he followed Jem, he suddenly woke to the fact that he did not feel so weak and giddy, while, by the time he was on deck, it as suddenly occurred to him that he could eat some breakfast.
“I thought as much,” said Jem. “Lookye there, Mas’ Don. Did you ever see such a miserable sneak?”
For there, not half-a-dozen yards away, was the sinister-looking sailor talking to the bluff boatswain.
“Oh, yes, of course,” said the latter, as he caught sight of the recruits. “So does every man who is pressed, and if he does not say it, he thinks it. There, be off.”
The ill-looking sailor gave Jem an ugly look and went aft, while the boatswain turned to Don.
“That’s right,” he said. “Make a bit of an effort, and you’re all the better for it. You’ll get your sea legs directly.”
“I wish he’d tell us where to get a sea leg o’ mutton, Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem. “I am hungry.”
“What’s that?” said the boatswain.
“Only said I was hungry,” growled Jem.