“Wait till I get a chance at you,” sobbed Ralph, as Jem took him away from Dobbs.
“Lord lumme,” said Jem, regarding him in astonishment. “Why, he’s actooaly cryin’. I’ve seen a good many pirates in my time, Bill, but this is a new sort.”
“Leave the boy alone,” said the cook, a fat, good-natured man. “Here, come ’ere, old man. They don’t mean no ’arm.”
Glad to escape, Ralph made his way over to the cook, grinding his teeth with shame as that worthy took him between his knees and mopped his eyes with something which he called a handkerchief.
“You’ll be all right,” he said kindly. “You’ll be as good a pirate as any of us before you’ve finished.”
“Wait till the first engagement, that’s all,” sobbed the boy. “If somebody don’t get shot in the back it won’t be my fault.”
The two seamen looked at each other. “That’s wot hurt my ’and then,” said Dobbs slowly. “I thought it was a jack-knife.”
He reached over, and unceremoniously grabbing the boy by the collar, pulled him towards him, and drew a small cheap revolver from his pocket. “Look at that, Jem.”
“Take your fingers orf the blessed trigger and then I will,” said the other, somewhat sourly.
“I’ll pitch it overboard,” said Dobbs.