Everybody was dressed in extra clothing now, and this added considerably to everybody’s breadth of beam, but especially, apparently, to Dumpty’s. He was, indeed, a curious figure; and the Newfoundlands and ship’s collie all seemed to know there was something rather ridiculous about his build, and were never tired getting some fun out of him.
Dumpty had been throwing a wooden belaying-pin along the decks to-day, that the wise animals might have exercise. And this was a species of exercise they appeared to enjoy as much as a young man does football.
Collie himself was nearly always first in the field or first to rush after and catch the belaying-pin. But unless he changed ground, or rather deck, and tried to get to Dumpty—who stood for goal—from the other side, he was rolled over, and had speedily to give up his prize, and fall back upon barking to relieve his mind.
But this forenoon they had varied the performance a bit, at a suggestion from big, beautiful Nick himself.
“Come on, Dumpty,” Nick seemed to cry. “You are better than a thousand belaying-pins. Hurrah!”
So he sprang at the droll little man, and down he went.
The two great dogs rolled Dumpty round and round, and over and over along the deck, in the funniest way possible, and with their paws, too, though whenever there was a hitch, Collie gave them a little assistance by seizing Dumpty’s jacket, and hauling him a yard or two.
In this way they rolled him to goal, which to-day was the quarter-deck.
Here they met the boys, and Nick and Nora were constrained to stand up to smile and gasp. This gave Dumpty a chance of escaping to the rigging, and then Charlie and Walter came in for it.
They did not “down” them; but while Nick sprang up and seized Charlie’s cap, Nora did the same for Walt, and then came the grand scamper round and round the decks, four yards of solid Newfoundland and forty inches of collie.