“You’d better not,” retorted Davie with a grin. “It’s as much as your situation’s worth to lay a finger on me.”
“That’s it, youngster, give it ’im,” cried several of the men, while the boy confronted his superior, taking good care, however, to keep the fore-mast between them.
“What do you mean, you young rascal?” cried Mivins with a frown.
“Mean!” said Davie, “why, I mean that if you touch me I’ll resign office; and if I do that, you’ll have to go out, for everyone knows you can’t get on without me.”
“I say, Mivins,” cried Tom Green, the carpenter’s mate, “if you were asked to say: ‘Hold on hard to this handspike here, my hearties,’ how would ye go about it?”
“He’d ’it you a pretty ’ard crack hover the ’ead with it, ’e would,” remarked one of the men, throwing a ball of yarn at Davie, who stood listening to the conversation with a broad grin.
In stepping back to avoid the blow the lad trod on Dumps’s paw, and instantly there came from the throat of that excellent dog a roar of anguish that caused Poker to leap, as the cook expressed it, nearly out of his own skin. Dogs are by nature extremely sympathetic and remarkably inquisitive; and no sooner was Dumps’s yell heard than it was vigorously responded to by every dog in the ship, as the whole pack rushed each from his respective sleeping-place, and looked round in amazement.
“Hallo! what’s wrong there for’ard?” enquired Saunders, who had been pacing the quarter-deck with slow giant strides, arguing mentally with himself in default of a better adversary.
“Only trod on Dumps’s paw, sir,” said Mivins as he hurried aft; “the men are sky-larking.”
“Sky-larking, are you?” said Saunders, going forward; “weel, lads, you’ve had a lot o’ hard work of late, ye may go and take a run on the ice.”