“But that’s ten miles away,” said the Doctor. “He couldn’t smell that far surely!”
“Oh, yes, he could,” said Dab-Dab. “You ask him.”
Then Jip, still fast asleep, began to growl again and his lip curled up angrily, showing his clean, white teeth.
“I smell bad men,” he growled—“the worst men I ever smelt. I smell trouble. I smell a fight—six bad scoundrels fighting against one brave man. I want to help him. Woof—oo—WOOF!” Then he barked, loud, and woke himself up with a surprised look on his face.
“See!” cried Dab-Dab. “That boat is nearer now. You can count its three big sails—all red. Whoever it is, they are coming after us.... I wonder who they are.”
“They are bad sailors,” said Jip; “and their ship is very swift. They are surely the pirates of Barbary.”
“Well, we must put up more sails on our boat,” said the Doctor, “so we can go faster and get away from them. Run downstairs, Jip, and fetch me all the sails you see.”
The dog hurried downstairs and dragged up every sail he could find.
“‘They are surely the pirates of Barbary’”