Nigel at once fell in with their custom, tore off the remaining drumstick and began.
“Biskit,” said Moses, with his mouth full, “an’ look out for Spinkie.”
He handed forward a deep tray of the sailor’s familiar food, but Nigel was too slow to profit by the warning given, for Spinkie darted both hands into the tray and had stuffed his mouth and cheeks full almost before a man could wink! The negro would have laughed aloud, but the danger of choking was too great; he therefore laughed internally—an operation which could not be fully understood unless seen. “’Splosions of Perboewatan,” may suggest the thing.
Sorrow, grief—whatever it was that habitually afflicted that monkey—disappeared for the time being, while it devoted itself heart and soul to dinner.
Feelings of a somewhat similar kind animated Nigel as he sat leaning back with his mouth full, a biscuit in one hand, and a drumstick in the other, and his eyes resting dreamily on the horizon of the still tranquil sea, while the bright sun blazed upon his already bronzed face.
To many men the fierce glare of the equatorial sun might have proved trying, but Nigel belonged to the salamander type of humanity and enjoyed the great heat. Van der Kemp seemed to be similarly moulded, and as for Moses, he was in his native element—so was Spinkie.
Strange as it may seem, sea-birds appeared to divine what was going on, for several specimens came circling round the canoe with great outstretched and all but motionless wings, and with solemn sidelong glances of hope which Van der Kemp evidently could not resist, for he flung them scraps of his allowance from time to time.
“If you have plenty of provisions on board, I should like to do that too,” said Nigel.
“Do it,” returned the hermit. “We have plenty of food for some days, and our guns can at any time replenish the store. I like to feed these creatures,” he added, “they give themselves over so thoroughly to the enjoyment of the moment, and seem to be grateful. Whether they are so or not, of course, is matter of dispute. Cynics will tell us that they only come to us and fawn upon us because of the memory of past favours and the hope of more to come. I don’t agree with them.”
“Neither do I,” said Nigel, warmly. “Any man who has ever had to do with dogs knows full well that gratitude is a strong element of their nature. And it seems to me that the speaking eyes of Spinkie, to whom I have just given a bit of biscuit, tell of a similar spirit.”