“Why not?” said Henry.
“Cos I say you’re not to,” said Dick ferociously. “That’s why.”
“P’raps they know,” said Henry quietly. “Seems to me Sam’s listenin’ in his sleep.”
Dick got up, and going to their bunks inspected the sleep of both his comrades cautiously. Then with a repetition of his caution, strengthened by fearful penalties for disobedience, went to his own bunk and forgot his troubles in sleep. He kept his secret all next day, but his bewilderment when he awoke on Tuesday morning and found the clothes in an untidy brown paper parcel lying on the deck led to its divulgence. He told both Sam and the cook about it, and his opinion of both men went up when he found that they did not treat the matter in the light of a joke, as he had feared. Neither of them even smiled, neither did they extend much sympathy; they listened apathetically, and so soon as he had finished, went straight off to sleep where they sat—a performance which they repeated at every opportunity throughout the whole of the day.
CHAPTER VIII
The Seamew lay at Cocklemouth another three days, in which time Dick, after a twelve-mile walk, learnt all there was to learn about Piggott’s Bay. The second outrage was likely to have seriously injured his constitution, but the silver lining of the cloud caught his eye just as he was closing it in sleep, and the tension was removed.
“I’ve been thinkin’, Sam,” he said next morning, “that I’ve been rather selfish over that syndikit business. I ought to ’ave joined it.”
“You can please yourself,” said Sam.
“But it’s better late than never,” said Dick, turning to the cook who had joined them. “I’m goin’ to put you in the way of findin’ Cap’n Gething.”
The cook portrayed gratified surprise.