"Mr. Sturdy, please take note; Lord Tomfoozle meant a brick."
"Shut up, you A.P.," cried the mid, "or rather you APE. I'm talking to a gentleman.—Yes, doctor, I did mean a brick; so there!"
"I say, doctor, you look out," said the mischievous quill-driver. "Old Tomfoozle expects you to put him on the sick-list next—"
"Next what?" said the mid.
"Next gale of wind."
"Avast heaving now, you youngsters," put in Sturdy.—"That's the worst of having babies in the mess, doctor."
"I didn't heave anything," said Fitzgerald; "but if the biscuits had been handy, Mr. A.P., without the E, would have had to duck his somewhat empty head."
* * * * *
I cannot say that Jack Mackenzie was over-well pleased with the city of the Templars. It was foreign enough and romantic enough, and military enough also, but it lacked greenness and vegetation. True, the orange-trees bloomed bonnie in many of the gardens, and flowers too, rich and rare, but on the whole it was a parched and sunburnt town. The sea all around, however, was very blue and beautiful, and perhaps no one was sorry when the Gurnet was once more off and away on the bosom of the broad Levant, and bound for Alexandria.
The ship was now all that a little ship of war should be. Sturdy took a pride in her. And he would have her clean alow and aloft, outside and in; and the men seeing this, did all they could to please their good lieutenant. The principal warrant or non-commissioned officers on board the Gurnet were the bos'n, who was so good a friend to Jack, the quartermaster, and sergeant of marines. There were ten at least of these redcoats on board; and although they were very plainly dressed indeed on week-days—just sloped about anyhow, as the bos'n phrased it—still, drawn up on the ivory-white deck on a Sunday morning in line with the blue-jackets, all with rifles and white bayonets ready for inspection, the effect was very pretty.