“Why, you said just now as you did, Master Aleck,” said the sailor, blankly.
“Oh, no; you misunderstood me, Tom. It was not for that.”
“Ho! Then what for was it, my lad?”
“I can’t tell you, Tom,” cried the boy, passionately. “Don’t worry me. Can’t you see I’m all in pain and trouble?”
“All right, sir; I don’t want to worry yer. It don’t matter. I couldn’t help wanting to know why you larruped him; but, as I said afore, it don’t matter. You did larrup him, and give it him well, and it strikes me as his father’ll give him the rope’s-end as well, as soon as he sees him for going back home with such a face as he’s got on his front. My word, you did paint him up. His old man won’t hardly know him.”
“Tom!” cried Aleck, excitedly, as these last words impressed him deeply.
“Ay, ay, sir! Tom it is.”
“Look at my face,” said the lad, looking up sharply from where he had been leaning over the gunwale scooping up the water in his hand and bathing the injuries he had received in his encounter. “Look at me. Is my face much knocked about?”
The sailor shifted the hands which had held rudder and sheet, afterwards raising that which held the latter and rubbing his mahogany brown nose with the rope.
“Well, why don’t you speak, Tom?” said the lad, pettishly.