“What do you mean,” cried Mr. Long, in a great passion, “by this mockery? Here have we been waiting for you ever since morning, and we’ve had to put the ballast on board with our own hands; and I come here and find you quite indifferent. What do you mean, sir? Are you going, or not?”
“Good gracious!” said Captain Corbet. “The ballast! Why, railly now! Did you go and put it on board? Why, I do declare!”
Mr. Long gave a dark frown, and with a violent effort smothered his indignation.
“Are you coming, or not?” said he, sternly.
“Coming? Why—not jest now. You see there’s the babby.”
And he put his brown finger under the chin of his offspring, and actually forgot himself so far as to whistle to it; after which he cast a furtive glance at his visitors, as though half expecting that they would admire the child.
“Where’s Mrs. Corbet? It’s her place to mind the child—your place is on board the vessel.”
“Why, I can’t put the babby on the floor, as I see; nor I can’t take him on board.”
“Where’s Mrs. Corbet?”
“Why, you see, she started off airly to hunt up some parygolic. The babby’s troubled with wind, and—”