Now, they were scarce an hour under way when this Weiss Nicht, who was the gunner’s mate on board, and many other things at other times and places, sighted, hull down, on the port quarter a small, strange craft painted green and scarcely to be distinguished from the water itself.
This he reported, as was his duty, to his superior, Nicht Wahr.
“Hah!” cried the proud and apparently learned Nicht Wahr, “it is a rowing barge upon which some one has built a small cabin to float about in. It is good for the sun and the rain—is a cabin like that.”
“And the night dews are bad,” agreed the gibing Weiss Nicht.
“Go on,” commanded Nicht Wahr, who hated the servile but critical second officer and gunner’s mate aboard. “They have no food. They can be of no use to us. To your station, Nicht!”
“But it moves, you fools!” thundered Ruhet, who had come on deck in time to hear the contention. “And it has neither sails like the Egyptian craft nor oars like the Roman. I wish I had it!”
“If your excellency will pardon Nicht Wahr,” said the apparently learned one, with a great bow, “he begs leave to doubt that it moves—much.”
“Hang you! Haven’t I got a couple of eyes?”
Now Nicht Wahr only bowed, but as he did so he turned and smiled pityingly to Weiss Nicht, as who should say: “Let him have his way. But, oh! Moves! Like this ship, for instance!”
And perhaps that is the reason he only answered (when Ruhet had said imperiously), “Well, then?”