Two more men came on deck, grinning consciously, and disposed of their dinners. Then there was an interval—an interval in which everybody fore and aft, appeared to be waiting for something; the something being at that precise moment standing at the foot of the foc’sle ladder, trying to screw its courage up.
“If the boy comes,” said the skipper in a strained, unnatural voice, “I’ll flay him alive.”
“You’d better get your knife out, then,” said the mate.
The boy appeared on deck, very white about the gills, and looking piteously at the crew for support. He became conscious from their scowls that he had forgotten something, and remembering himself, stretched out his skinny arms to their full extent, and, crinkling his nose, walked with great trepidation to the side.
“Boy!” vociferated the skipper suddenly.
“Yessir,” said the urchin hastily.
“Comm’ere,” said the skipper sternly.
“Shove your dinner over first,” said four low, menacing voices.
The boy hesitated, then walked slowly towards the skipper.
“What are you going to do with that dinner?” demanded the latter grimly.