“That ain’t the way I’ve ’eard it put afore,” said Clark, somewhat taken back.
“He’s the cutest dog breathing,” said the skipper fondly, “and he knows all about it. He won’t bite either of you again.”
“And wot about them as ’asn’t been bit yet, sir?” inquired the cook.
“Don’t halloo before you’re hurt,” advised the skipper. “If you don’t tease him he won’t bite you.”
He went down to his dinner, followed by the sagacious Rupert, leaving the hands to go forward again, and to mutinously discuss a situation which was becoming unbearable.
“It can’t go on no longer, Joe,” said Clark firmly; “this settles it.”
“Where is the stuff?” inquired the cook in a whisper.
“In my chest,” said Clark softly. “I bought It the night he bit me.”
“It’s a risky thing to do,” said Bates.
“’Ow risky?” asked Sam scornfully. “The dog eats the stuff and dies. Who’s going to say what he died of? As for suspicions, let the old man suspect as much as he likes. It ain’t proof.”