"What's that?" shouted Quilleash, dropping the banter rather suddenly. "What, and not a farthing at him? And owin' me fortune for the bringin' up."
"No matter, Billy," said Dan, "and don't ride a man down like a main-tack. One of these fine mornings Davy will be payin' his debt to you with the foretopsail."
Davy's eyes were held very low, but it was not hard to see that they were beginning to fill.
"That will do, Dan, that will do," said Ewan. The young parson's face had grown suddenly pale, but Dan saw nothing of that.
"And look at him there," said Dan, reaching round Ewan to prod Davy in the ribs—"look at him there, pretendin' he never knows nothin'."
The big tears were near to toppling out of Davy's eyes. He could have borne the chaff from any one but Dan.
"Dan," said Ewan, with a constrained quietness, "stop it; I can't stand it much longer."
At that Davy got up from the table, leaving his unfinished breakfast, and began to climb the hatchways.
"Aw, now, look at that," said Dan, with affected solemnity, and so saying, and not heeding the change in Ewan's manner, Dan got up too and followed Davy out, put an arm round the lad's waist, and tried to draw him back. "Don't mind the loblolly-boys, Davy veg," he said, coaxingly. Davy pushed him away with an angry word.
"What's that he's after saying?" asked Quilleash.