“I forget the word,” said Ralph, with strong good sense.
“Don’t tell any lies now,” said the skipper, flushing, as he heard a chuckle from the mate. “Go on, out with it. I’ll give you just two minutes.”
“I forget it,” persisted Ralph.
“Dustman?” suggested the mate, coming to his assistance. “Coster, chimbley-sweep, mudlark, pickpocket, convict, washer-worn—”
“If you’ll look after your dooty, George, instead o’ interferin’ in matters that don’t concern you,” said the skipper in a choking voice, “I shall be obliged. Now, then, you boy, what were you going to say I was like?”
“Like the mate,” said Ralph slowly.
“Don’t tell lies,” said the skipper furiously; “you couldn’t ’ave forgot that word.”
“I didn’t forget it,” said Ralph, “but I didn’t know how you’d like it.”
The skipper looked at him dubiously, and pushing his cap from his brow scratched his head.
“And I didn’t know how the mate ’ud like it, either,” continued the boy.