“Think I don’t know? Why, you ain’t gasped yet! Give a gasp, or I’ll be up to you with a rope-end! That’s more like it.”
It was!
The sun was high when Ratcliffe got on deck, and a light, steady breeze was blowing up from the straits of Florida; the gulls looked like snowflakes blowing round the far reefs and against the morning blue of the sea.
Jude had put the kettle on. She had dressed on deck, having carried her “togs” with her, and she was now preparing a line for fishing, and, as she bent over it, appeared Satan,—Satan rising from the cabin hatch with a toothbrush in his hand.
“You’ve forgot your teeth,” said Satan.
“No, I haven’t,” said Jude. “I’ve been fillin’ the kettle—I’ll fix them when I’ve done with the fishin’.”
“Fishin’ will wait.” He fetched a pannikin of water. “You’re more trouble than a dozen. What’d Pap say if he saw you?”
“I’ll fix them when I’ve done with the fishin’.”
“You’ll fix them now!”
“No. I won’t!”