“Ah,” said the second middy, thoughtfully; “I forgot about him. Bother the monkey! Phew! I am hot. I say, they may well call this Oily Bight. The sea looks just as if it had been greased. Oh, don’t I wish I were in a good wet fog in the Channel. This is a scorcher.”
The lads ceased speaking, and sat back watching the anchored vessel and relieving the tedium of the long row by scratching the monkey’s head and pulling its ears, the animal complacently accepting both operations, and turning its head about so that every portion should receive its share of the scratching, till all at once the boat was run alongside, the coxswain took hold with his boathook, and while the falls were hooked on, an order was given above, and they were run up to the davits.
Directly after, Mark Vandean stepped on deck, touched his cap to a severe-looking officer, and presented a letter.
“Take it in to the captain,” he said; and Mark marched off to the cabin, while the first lieutenant, who had turned toward the boat, out of which the men had sprung, suddenly raised one hand, and pointed at the boat’s side, above which a head had been raised, and its owner was gazing round with wrinkled forehead as if wondering what was going to happen next.
Bob Howlett saw the first lieutenant’s fixed stare and pointing hand, and glancing round, he caught sight of the head with its chin on the gunwale.
“Who’s that?” cried the first lieutenant, sharply; and the men screwed up their faces and looked comically solemn on the instant, but no one spoke.
“Mr Howlett,” cried the officer again, “I asked you who that was in the boat!”
“Beg pardon, sir; didn’t know you were speaking to me. Which, sir?”
The lieutenant’s lips were compressed as he took a couple of strides and brought himself alongside of the middy.
“If you are not careful, sir,” he said severely, “trouble will follow this. You did know I spoke to you, sir. I said, ‘Who is that young black?’ Why, it’s an ape.”