"Bo's'n! Bo's'n!" I said to him encouragingly. But he sat doubled up in a heap, glowering at me with basilisk eye. He emitted at intervals howls of rage and pain, the like of which I had never heard equalled. I felt sure that he had suddenly gone out of his mind.
"What have you done to the poor man, Mr. Jones?" asked Cynthia.
I turned to see her standing there. Her hair had fallen down, and some of the wild fern of which we had made her bed was sticking in it, poor dear!
"Done to him? You forget yourself, Miss Archer."
She started as I addressed her. I turned again to the Bo's'n.
"I don't like your looking at me in that way, Bo's'n," said I.
Whereupon the Bo's'n leaped into midair with a howl and a gnashing of the teeth at me. They were swift, sharp snaps, that made me jump higher even than he did himself. I looked about for a place of refuge.
"They know a coward when they see one," said Cynthia. "They are just like animals for the time being." She approached the Bo's'n guardedly and held out her hand to him with a frightened look on her face.
"Here, Bo's'n, Bo's'n, good Bo's'n," she said, as if coaxing a dog.
"Better go away, ma'm. I'm afraid I'll bite," snapped the Bo's'n.