“Do you want a shot rammed in it, too?” I asked. “It might be just as well to stir him up with a handful of good iron. It would probably be small loss to his country if he happened to try and stop it.”
“That’s where you show a lot o’ foolishness,” he replied. “There’s devilish few men like him, and, if his country can spare him, we can’t. By no means let a shot get in that gun.”
While we were talking, Miss Allen came up the companionway accompanied by Hicks, Renshaw, and Curtis. She looked magnificent as she stood there in the fading sunlight, her hair taking on a deep coppery-red colour, and her eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Will you let me fire it, Mr. Sailorman?” she asked, nodding toward the gun which I was loading.
“Indeed he will not,” said Mr. Curtis, whom I now observed to be a man of some presence, wearing a single eye-glass and a look such as I had imagined belonged to men much given to science and books.
“You have my permission,” laughed Sir John, winking awkwardly, “but, of course, you must not disobey.”
“I have not promised to obey yet,” said the girl, with a slight raising of the eyebrows. “Suppose, Sir John, you allow your wit to flow in different channels.”
“Wit!” growled Renshaw. “Don’t use the word, I beg you, in connection with his speech. One might really suppose there was such a quality in his nature, since you suggest it, Miss Allen, and much as I should like to--”
“Oh, stow it! Belay for the lady’s sake,” said Sir John. “There is such a thing as talking a person to death.”
“Between the two of you, she is in rather a dangerous situation,” said Mr. Curtis, sourly, “but I suppose there is some excuse for men who have been at sea over a month.”