They moved off reluctantly, Dick throwing such affectionate glances at the skipper over his shoulders that he nearly choked with rage.
“I won’t have it!” he said fiercely; “I’ll knock it out of ’em.”
“You can’t,” said the mate. “You can’t knock sailor men about nowadays. The only thing you can do is to get rid of ’em.”
“I don’t want to do that,” was the growling reply. “They’ve been with me a long time, and they’re all good men. Why don’t they have a go at you, I wonder?”
“Me?” said the mate, in indignant surprise. “Why, I’m a Seventh Day Baptist! They don’t want to waste their time over me. I’m all right.”
“You’re a pretty Seventh Day Baptist, you are!” replied the skipper. “Fust I’ve heard of it.”
“You don’t understand about such things,” said the mate.
“It must be a very easy religion,” continued the skipper.
“I don’t make a show of it, if that’s what you mean,” rejoined the other warmly. “I’m one o’ them as believe in ’iding my light under a bushel.”
“A pint pot’ud do easy,” sneered the skipper. “It’s more in your line, too.”