But Sandy looked at him with a pitying smile. “Man—Rory?” he said, “I’m no’ so sea-green as you tak me to be. I’ve a right good mind to pu’ your lugs. Young men, sir, dinna enter Aberdeen University stirks and come out cuddies?”
“Mon!” cried Rory, imitating Sandy’s brogue, “if ye want to pu’ my lugs you’ll hae to catch me first;” and off he went round the deck, with the doctor after him. But Ralph caught him, if Sandy couldn’t, and handed him over to justice.
“Now,” cried the surgeon, catching him by the ear, “whistle, and I’ll let you free.”
It is no easy matter to whistle when you want to laugh, but when Rory at long last did manage to emit a labial note that passed muster as a whistle, the doctor was as good as his word, and Rory was free.
Luncheon was barely finished, when down from the crow’s-nest rang the welcome hail, “Ice ahead!”
Our heroes rushed on deck, McBain was there before them, and when they stepped on to the “lid” of the ship, as Sandy once called the deck, they found the captain half-way up to the nest.
There wasn’t a bit of ice to be seen from the deck.
“Hurrah for the foretop?” cried Rory, laying hold of a stay. “Who’s coming?”
“I will!” cried Allan.
“I’m going below to finish lunch,” said Ralph.