“Is Mrs. Bunker getting up?” inquired the mate, as he emerged from the fo’c’sle and walked aft.
“I believe so,” said the skipper. “There’s movements below.”
“’Cos the steak’s ready and waiting,” said the mate. “I’ve put it on a dish in front of the fire.”
“Ay, ay!” said the skipper.
The mate lit his pipe and sat down on the hatchway, slowly smoking. He removed it a couple of minutes later, to stare in bewilderment at the unwonted behaviour of the dog, which came up to the captain and affectionately licked his hands.
“He’s took quite a fancy to me,” said the delighted man.
“Love me love my dog,” quoted Bill waggishly, as he strolled forward again.
The skipper was fondly punching the dog, which was now on its back with its four legs in the air, when he heard a terrible cry from the fo’c’sle, and the mate came rushing wildly on deck.
“Where’s that ———— dog?” he cried.
“Don’t you talk like that aboard my ship. Where’s your manners?” cried the skipper hotly.