“Squeak, ye land-rats. By God’s death, you’ve never seen the inside of a Barbary prison. If you were men you’d take your hat off to the capt’n. But being land-gaffers, you’re all mud-muck and tallow. Shove her off, mates, or I’ll be smashing some chicken’s stilts with my oar.”
The loungers jeered him valiantly as the bow sweeps churned foam, and the boat, gathering weigh, swung out into the river.
“Look at their great mouths,” said the sea-wolf, grimly; “when we want our bilge emptying we’ll send for ’em to have a drink.”
Meanwhile the man in the red coat and the boy had passed up the passage from the river in the direction of Charing Cross, the shabbiness of their raiment flattering the curiosity of the passers-by. The man in the red coat appeared wholly at his ease. As for the boy, he was ready to spread his fingers at the whole town on the very first provocation. Even the fact that he had a rent in his breeches that suffered a certain portion of his underlinen to protrude did not humble his self-satisfaction.
The sea-captain, who had been walking with his chin in the air, glanced down suddenly at the boy beside him.
“How are the ‘stores,’ Sparkin, my lad?”
“Getting low in the hold, sir.”
“We will put in and replenish.”
The boy gave a greedy twinkle.
“Hallo! I thought I told Jasper to patch you up with a piece of sail-cloth?”