Morny was really angry, but Joe Cross’s frank face had expanded into a grim smile.
“What game’s he been up to, Mr Rodd, sir?”
“Oh, it was very stupid of me,” said Rodd, wiping his eyes; “but I was afraid of laughing in his face, and the more I tried to look serious the more it would come; and I didn’t want to offend him.”
“Just like ’em, sir,” said Joe, as Rodd explained himself more fully. “’Tis their natur’ to; and besides, it’s what an old woman I used to know called being codimical. Yes, sir, I’ve watched ’em aboard that there three-masted schooner. Them there mongrel chaps, they must save a wonderful lot of money every year in soap.”
“There,” said Rodd, wiping his eyes again, “I am all right now; but it’s very comic. The more you feel you mustn’t laugh, the worse you are. I suppose laughing must do one good. I always feel so much better after having a good grin.”
“Do you good, Mr Rodd, sir! I should just think it does! Why, it’s natur’. Does you good to have a long talk sometimes, don’t it; eh, Mr Morny, sir?”
“Oh yes, I suppose so,” replied the lad.
“And you know it does you a lot of good to get your teeth to work when you are hungry, Mr Rodd.”
“Yes, Joe,” cried the lad eagerly. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Ah, you wait a bit, sir, and you will see. But as I was saying about laughing, what’s your smiling tackle for, and your grinning kit for, if they aren’t to use and set you right when otherwise you would be all in the dumps? Yes, sir; give me a good laugh. But one don’t always get one’s share along with our old man. Still we like him, for he always means right by us. Ay, there’s worse chaps in the world than old Chubb, and I’m just ready and waiting to drink his health and long life to him in a pannikin of the finest coffee a coxswain ever brewed; and as for the frizzled ham that cookie’s got thriddled on sticks over them embers to eat with the dough-cakes he’s baking in the ashes— Here, let’s get back, for fear there’s an accident.”