“Now, then, youngster, what do you want?”
“I want to see the steward,” replied Tim, in a voice which could hardly be heard.
“I’m the steward. Now what else do you want?” replied the party who had spoken first, and who was a little, old, rather pleasant-faced man, with a voice about six sizes too large for his body.
Tim repeated the captain’s words as nearly as he could remember them, and the steward looked him over carefully, with just the faintest show of pity on his face.
“You don’t look as if you’d stand it very long to work for the captain of this boat; but that’s none of my business. Whose dog is that?”
“That’s Tip: he’s mine.”
“You’d better take him ashore. The captain ain’t over and above fond of dogs, and he won’t be likely to fall in love with one as ugly as that.”
“But he told me I could find a place for him somewhere on the boat,” said Tim, quickly, alarmed even at the suggestion that he part with Tip.
“Did he tell you so before or after he hired you?”
“Before I agreed to come he said I could keep Tip with me,” replied Tim, wondering at the question.