Mr. Dodds finding language utterly useless to express his burning thoughts, sat down and madly smashed at the table with his fists.
“Wot was you adoin’ to let me do it?” he demanded at length of the boy. “You ungrateful little toad. You can give me that ’arf-suvrin back, d’ye hear?”! “I can’t,” said the boy. “I followed your example, and give it to the red-’aired woman to buy the baby another bun with.”
There was a buzzing noise in Mr. Dodds’ head, and the bunks and their grinning occupants went round and round.
“’Ere, ’old up, Sam,” said Pilchard, shaking him in alarm. “It’s all right; don’t be a fool. I’ve got the money.”
Sam stared at him blankly.
“I’ve got the money,” repeated the seaman.
Mr. Dodds’ colour came back.
“How’d you get it?” he inquired.
“I took it out of your pocket last night just to give you a lesson,” said Harry severely. “Don’t you never be so silly agin, Sam.”
“Gimme my money,” said Mr. Dodds, glaring at him.