The Captain pretended to get into a great rage; although his twinkling eyes and suppressed chuckle testified that it was only pretence all the time, though his passion was well simulated.
“I don’t see anything to laugh at, you young rascal,” he said to Bob. “I’m sure I’ve given you quite as good a definition as you would find in any of those ‘catechisms of common things’—catechisms of conundrums, I call them—which boys and girls are made to learn by rote, like parrots, without really acquiring any sensible knowledge of the subjects they are supposed to teach! I might tell you, as these works do, that ‘steam was an elastic fluid generated by water when in a boiling state’; but, would you be any the wiser for that piece of information, eh?”
“No, Captain,” answered Bob, still giggling, “I don’t understand.”
“Or, I might tell you ‘steam: is only a synonym for heat, the cause of all motion’—do you understand that?”
Bob still shook his head, trying vainly to keep from laughing.
“Of course not,” cried the Captain triumphantly, “nor would I, either, unless I knew something more about it; and to tell you that would take me all the day nearly.”
“Oh spare us,” said Mrs Gilmour plaintively. “Pray spare us that!”
“I will, ma’am,” he replied. “I assure you I wasn’t going to do it. Some time or other, though, this young shaver shall come along with me when one of the new ships goes out from the dockyard for her steam trials; and then, perhaps, he will be able to have everything explained to him properly, without boring you or bothering me.”
“How jolly!” ejaculated Bob. “I should like that.”
“You mustn’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” growled the other, turning round on him abruptly; “and, if ever I catch you sniggering again when I’m talking I’ll—I’ll—”