“Say, there,” came in the skipper’s voice. “Just yew all lie down. Yew show yewrselves at that winder any one of yew and I’ll send a bullet through the fire that signals.”
Mark’s first idea was to commence war on their side, but he waited his time, and sat down smarting and throbbing, as the black came across to him and laid a hand upon his knee, looking commiseratingly in his face.
“Oh, it’s nothing much,” said Mark, hastily, though he was quivering with pain.
“But it is much, sir,” said Tom Fillot, who, at a sign from Mark, had drawn back and now stood gazing at his young leader.
“Does it show, Tom?”
“Want me to tell you the hull truth, sir?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Hair’s all singed off, sir, and you ain’t got a bit a’ eyebrow or eyelash left.”
Mark groaned.
“But they’ll all grow again, sir,” cried the sailor, eagerly, “and it might ha’ been worse.”