“He wants us to ‘man the pumps’—whatever that is! And where are the pumps? I can’t see any. It’s terrifikly confusing!” she added. “And my hair’s all in my eyes! I’m positive I look a sight!”
“Yes, you do!” said Tibbs, with brotherly frankness. “And the old bird is crazy!” he cried. “He imagines he’s a ship.”
“He looks more like a bed to me!” said Coppertop. And then she wondered why she had said it.
Then came the gurgling sound from below, once more.
The Albatross swerved, and the children turned pale—they thought they were going to have a second drenching.
But this time it was only Mr. Skipper Blubberkins laughing at the success of his little joke.
At this the Albatross quivered with rage, and flew down to tell the Whale exactly—or very nearly—what he thought of him. He was in a furious temper, and shrieked at the placid Whale. But Mr. Skipper Blubberkins only gurgled more than ever, until the bird grew so hoarse he could not utter another word.
“You shouldn’t lose your temper, and say things like that in front of my sister!” cried Tibbs, leaning forward and shouting to the angry bird.
“Lar! Bless me!” cried the Whale, as he caught sight of Tibbs. “Why didn’t you say you had a cargo aboard. Maybe I shouldn’t have made so free with my spoutings, if I’d known.”
“Blow me!” retorted the Albatross, “you should look before you spout!”