“What do you mean?”
“Don’t count ’em till they’re hatched.”
“Get out, croaker!”
Just then the two blacks came along the deck, looking very smart in their white sailor trousers, and not a little proud of their straw hats. Each man brightened up and displayed his teeth, as he saw the midshipmen, muttering something incomprehensible in reply to Bob’s “How do, Soup? How are you, Taters?” and passing on.
“I say,” said Mark, “it’s too bad to nickname the poor fellows like that.”
“Not a bit of it. What’s in a name? They answer to ’em right enough, and the men like ’em.”
“Yes, of course they do. Whoever heard of a sailor who didn’t like a bit of fun of that kind?”
“Oh, then you call it fun?”
“Yes—ill-natured fun.”
“Bother! Here’s the skipper. Let’s seem to be doing something, or we shall be lectured.”