“Oh,” said Uncle Paul, laughing, “you talked as if you were afraid of the sea, and all the time, you conceited young puppy, you mean that you are afraid of the men.”
“Well, yes, uncle, I suppose that that really is it.”
“Humph! Then why didn’t you say so, and not talk as if you, the first of my crew that I reckoned upon, were going to mutiny and give it all up?”
“Give it up, uncle?” cried the boy. “Why, you know that I am longing to go.”
“Ah, well, that sounds more like it, Pickle,” said Uncle Paul, looking sideways at the boy through his half-closed eyes. “Then I suppose it is all a false alarm.”
“Of course it is, uncle,” cried Rodd.
“Well, we may as well make sure, you know, because once we are started it won’t be long before we are out of sight of land, and there’ll be no turning back.”
“Well, I don’t want to turn back, uncle.”
“Then you shouldn’t have talked as if you thought you might. Are you afraid now?”
“Not a bit, uncle. I am ready to start to-morrow morning.”