What the Captain’s terrible threat was must ever remain a mystery; for, just at that moment, Nell, who had been looking over the side of the steamer, watching the creamy foam churned-up by her paddles and rolling with heavy undulations into the long white wake astern marking her progress through the water, suddenly uttered an exclamation.
“Look, look, aunt Polly!” she cried excitedly. “Oh, look!”
“What, dearie?” inquired Mrs Gilmour, bending towards her, thinking she had dropped her glove or something into the sea. “What is it?”
“There, there!” said Nellie, pointing out some dark objects that could be seen tumbling about in the tideway some distance off the starboard quarter. “See those big fishes, auntie! Are they whales?”
It was the Captain’s turn to laugh now.
“Whales, eh? By Jove, you’ll be the death of me, missy, by Jove, you will, ho-ho-ho!” he chuckled, leaning on his stick for support. “What does Shakespeare say, eh? ‘very like a whale,’ eh? Ho-ho-ho!”
Miss Nell did not like this at all, though she did not object to laughing at others.
“Well, what are they?” she asked indignantly. “What are they?”
“Pigs;” replied the Captain with a grave face, but there was a sly twinkle of his left eye approaching to a wink. “Those are pigs, missy.”
“I don’t believe it,” cried the young lady in a pet, putting up her shoulders in high disdain. “You’re only making fun of me!”