“Wonder whether you’d be tough.”
“Wait and eat him,” said Scood, grinning.
“Eat whom?”
“The London laddie.”
Kenneth, in his idle, drowsy fit, had almost forgotten the visitor, and he roused up now, and gazed earnestly at the approaching cloud of smoke, for the steamer was quite invisible.
“It is the Grenadier,” said Kenneth; “and she’s bringing the wind with her.”
“Shouldn’t say she,” muttered Scood.
“Yes, I should, stupid. Ships are shes.”
“Said you’d kick me if I said ‘she,’” muttered Scood.
“So I will if you call me ‘she.’ I’m not a ship. Hurrah! Here’s the wind at last.”