“But I tell you I am all right now,” cried Rodd angrily, and he darted a fierce look at the speaker.
“Of course you are, youngster; but you felt a bit skeart again, and ’nough to make you.”
“Yes,” said Rodd sharply, “I did feel startled for a moment, but it’s all gone now. Come on, uncle; I have got the glass;” and the boy made a dash for the cabin stairs.
“I say,” whispered the skipper, “that’s better than brag, doctor.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Paul, drawing a deep breath; “a great deal.”
They both then hastened up the stairs, to find Rodd half-way along the deck, hurrying with the glass under his arm to join the men, who were all gathered together at the bows, save their solitary messmate at the wheel.
“Well, my lads, did you make it out again?” shouted the skipper.
“No, sir,” replied Joe Cross, who took upon himself the part of spokesman. “Aren’t seen a sign of it. We have been casting it up among us that it got more than it liked in the shape of that bullet, and after going down, it turned waxy-like and come up again to have something to say to us, but turned worse and went down.”
“Humph!” grunted the skipper. “Then you think we hit it?”
“Yes, sir; and some of the lads have been saying that if they was you they’d load the big gun well with a lot of grape-shot, and if the beggar come up again be on the look-out and let him have it.”