“Look out!” he cried. “Here come two or three more,” and he dogged aside, while the middy was compelled, metaphorically, to come down from his dignified perch and duck down nearly double to escape the missiles which flew over him.
“Do you see now?” said Aleck, merrily.
“Oh! Ah! Yes! Of course! The insolent young scoundrels! Here, half a dozen of you jump ashore and catch that big boy with the ragged red cap. I’ll have him aboard to be flogged.”
Six of the boat’s crew sprang out on to the steps, but there was no prospect of their catching the principal offender, who uttered a derisive yell and started off to run at a rate which would have soon placed him beyond the reach of the sailors; and he knew it, too, as he turned and made a gesture of contempt, which produced a roar of delight from the other boys who stood looking on.
“After him!” yelled the middy to his men, as he stood stamping one foot in his excitement; and then turning to Aleck: “If the cat don’t scratch his back for this my name’s not Wrighton.”
The communication was made in quite a friendly, confidential way, which brought a response from Aleck:
“He’ll be too quick for them. The young dogs are as quick as congers.”
“You wait and you’ll see. I’ll make an example of him.”
All this passed quickly enough, while the boy in the red cap, feeling quite confident in his powers of flight, turned again to jeer and shout at the sailors, whom he derided with impudent remarks about their fatness of person, weight of leg, and stupidity generally, till he judged it dangerous to wait any longer, when he went off like a clockwork mouse, skimming over the stones, and from the first strides beginning to leave the sailors behind.
“I told you so,” said Aleck. “There he goes. I can run fast, but I couldn’t catch him. Ha, ha, ha! Bravo, Tom!” he cried. “Look at that sailor!”