"I have hardly spoken two words to him since he arrived," said she innocently.
"Dear me! That sounds like a strong hint," and Fenshawe very considerately left the two alone. Tired as Dick was, the best part of an hour elapsed before Irene could explain fully that he was now a baronet, with a reasonably large income, or he could make her understand exactly why he was a somewhat frayed out-of-work when they met in London.
Perhaps there were interludes and interruptions. Perhaps he thought that the limpid depths of her brown eyes offered more attractions than the sordid records of a foolish man's spite and a boy's sufferings. At any rate, it was Irene who finally insisted that this must positively be the last, and who threatened that she would not speak to him again that day if he stirred out of his tent before dinner.
And, indeed, Dick required no rocking when, after a refreshing wash, he stretched his long limbs in his hammock. His sleep was dreamless. He awoke at sundown strong in the conviction that he had hardly closed his eyes.
He and Stump shared the tent, and Dick's uncertain gaze first dwelt on his skipper, who was seated at the door, smoking. Stump removed his pipe from between his teeth:
"Good evenin', Sir Richard," he said solemnly. Then the huge joke he had been cogitating ever since Irene informed him at luncheon that Royson was now a man of title mastered him completely.
"Sink me," he burst forth, "I've had some daisies of second mates under me in me time, but I've never bossed a bloomin' barrow-knight afore. My godfather! Won't Becky be pleased! An' wot'll Tagg say? Pore old Tagg! He'll 'ave a fit!"
"Look here, captain—" began Dick, swinging his feet to the ground. But Stump's slow-moving wits, given full time to get under weigh, were working freely; punctuating each pause with a flourish of his pipe, he continued:
"Lord love a duck, I can see Tagg blowin' in to a snug in the West Injia Dock Road, an' startin' ev'ry yarn with, 'W'en I sailed down the Red Sea with Sir Richard—' or, 'We was goin' through the Gut on a dirty night, an' Sir Richard sez to me—' Well, there, I on'y hope 'e survives the fust shock. W'en 'e gets 'is wind we'll 'ave a fair treat. Mind ye, I 'ad a sort of funny feelin' when you tole me in the train you was my second mate, an' you sat there a-wearin' knickers. It gev me a turn, that did. An' then, you took another twist at me by sayin' you'd never bin to sea. I knew things was goin' to happen after that. It must ha' bin, wot d'ye call it—second sight—for I knew then an' there I'd got a prize in the lottery—"
"Oh, shut up!" shouted Royson, diving frantically for his boots.