Satisfied that the coast was clear, he rose to his feet and signalled hurriedly to Joe, then he mounted sentry over the companion, grinning feebly at the success of his manoeuvres as he heard a door closed and locked below.
“You pull me round to the wharf, Joe,” said Flower, as he tumbled hurriedly into the boat. “I don’t want to run into Fraser, and I just want to give old George the tip to keep quiet for a day or two.”
The seaman obeyed readily, and exchanged a triumphant glance with Mr. Green as they shot by the steamer’s stern. His invention was somewhat tried by Flower’s questions on the way to the wharf, but he answered them satisfactorily, and left him standing on the jetty imparting to George valuable thoughts on the maxim that speech is silver and silence golden.
Joe tried a few of the principal points with Tommy upon his return to the steamer, the necessity for using compliments instead of threats to a ship’s boy being very galling to his proud nature.
“You be a good boy like you always ’ave been, Tommy,” he said, with a kindly smile, “and don’t breathe a word about wot’s ’appened this evening, and ’ere’s a tanner for you to spend—a whole tanner.”
Tommy bit it carefully, and, placing it in his pocket, whistled thoughtfully.
“Fill your pipe out o’ that, young ’un,” said Mr. Green, proffering his pouch with a flourish.
The boy complied, and putting a few reserve charges in his pocket, looked up at him shrewdly.
“Is it very partikler?” he enquired, softly.
“Partikler!” repeated Joe. “I should think it is. He can’t think ’ow partikler it is, can ’e, Will-yum?”