“Don’t be a fool, Bill,” said Smithers, pocketing it, “that’s worth a few pints o’ anybody’s money. Stand out o’ the way, Bill, the Pirit King wants to go on deck.”
Bill moved aside as the boy went to the ladder, and allowing him to get up four or five steps, did the rest for him with his shoulder. The boy reached the deck on all fours, and, regaining a more dignified position as soon as possible, went and leaned over the side, regarding with lofty contempt the busy drudges on wharf and river.
They sailed at midnight and brought up in the early dawn in Longreach, where a lighter loaded with barrels came alongside, and the boy smelt romance and mystery when he learnt that they contained powder. They took in ten tons, the lighter drifted away, the hatches were put on, and they started once more.
It was his first voyage, and he regarded with eager interest the craft passing up and down. He had made his peace with the seamen, and they regaled him with blood-curdling stories of their adventures, in the vain hope of horrifying him.
“’E’s a beastly little rascal, that’s wot ’e is,” said the indignant Bill, who had surprised himself by his powers of narration; “fancy larfin’ when I told ’im of pitchin’ the baby to the sharks.”
“’E’s all right, Bill,” said the cook softly. “Wait till you’ve got seven of ’em.”
“What are you doing here, boy?” demanded the skipper, as Ralph, finding the seamen’s yarns somewhat lacking in interest, strolled aft with his hands in his pockets.
“Nothing,” said the boy, staring.
“Keep the other end o’ the ship,” said the skipper sharply, “an’ go an’ ’elp the cook with the taters.”
Ralph hesitated, but a grin on the mate’s face decided him.