“And I know how to, as well,” put in Nellie. “Don’t I, auntie?”
“Don’t bother me, children,” growled the Captain, pretending to get in a rage. “I must be off now. I have an appointment in the Dockyard this afternoon.”
“You shan’t go! you shan’t go!” cried the two together, hanging on to him on either side. “You promised to take us somewhere or do something if we were good, and that was to be to-morrow.”
“To-morrow comes never!” ejaculated the old sailor, chuckling and blinking away. “‘Hodie mihi, cras tibi.’ What is that, Master Bob?”
“Eh, sir?” said Bob, making a wry face. “Why, it’s Latin.”
“Thank you for nothing, you young shaver!” retorted the Captain drily. “What I want to know is, what does it mean?”
Bob hesitated a bit, as if puzzled to translate the phrase; but in a moment memory came to his aid.
“Ah yes, I recollect now,” he said in an assured voice. “It means, I think, ‘to-day it is my turn; to-morrow it will be yours.’”
“Very good, my boy,” said the Captain with a chuckle. “That’s my answer to your question just now.”
“But you promised us, Captain,” cried Nellie, taking up the cudgels now that poor Bob was routed so ignominiously. “You know you did, sir—didn’t he, auntie? And the ‘to-morrow’ you meant was a long time back, before the storm and everything!”