“What do you mean by that?” cried the lad, angrily. “Are they swollen too? I’m sure there’s nothing to laugh at in that.”
The sailor tried to look very serious, but failed. The laughing crinkles were smoothed out of his face, but his eyes sparkled and danced with merriment as he said:
“I didn’t mean no harm, Master Aleck, but you wouldn’t say what you did if you could see your eyes. They do look so rum.”
“Why? How?” cried Aleck, excitedly.
“Did yer see Benny Wiggs’s eyes las’ year after he took the bee swarm as got all of a lump in Huggins’s damsel tree?”
“No, of course I didn’t,” cried Aleck, impatiently.
“Ah, that’s a pity, sir, because yourn looks just like his’n did. You see, they don’t look like eyes!”
“Then what do they look like?” cried Aleck.
“Well, sir, I’ll tell yer: they looks just like the tops o’ bread loaves going to the oven.”
“Like what?”