“He’s been rather neglected, Sam,” said the skipper, shaking his head.
“Wot’s it got to do with me?” said Sam, violently. “I tell you I’ve never seen ’im afore this arternoon.”
“You hear what your father says,” said the skipper—(“Hold your tongue, Sam.) Where’s your mother, boy?”
“Dead, sir,” whined Master Jones. “I’ve on’y got ’im now.”
The skipper was a kind-hearted man, and he looked pityingly at the forlorn little figure by his side. And Sam was the good man of the ship and a leading light at Dimport.
“How would you like to come to sea with your father?” he inquired.
The grin of delight with which Master Jones received this proposal was sufficient reply.
“I wouldn’t do it for everybody,” pursued the skipper, glancing severely at the mate, who was behaving foolishly, “but I don’t mind obliging you, Sam. He can come.”
“Obliging?” repeated Mr. Brown, hardly able to get the words out. “Obliging me? I don’t want to be obliged.”
“There, there,” interrupted the skipper. “I don’t want any thanks. Take him forrard and give him something to eat—he looks half-starved, poor little chap.”