Although with most of his messmates Ned got on very well, two or three, it was very evident, disliked him on account of his zeal and good conduct, which reflected, they might have considered, on their behaviour.
The senior mate in the berth, “Old Rhymer” as he was called, who was soured by disappointment at not obtaining his commission, as he thought he ought to have done long ago, took every opportunity of finding fault with him, and was continually sneering at what he said when at the mess table. If he attempted to reply, O’Connor, the eldest of the midshipmen, was sure to come down on him and join Rhymer.
“You’ll be after getting a cobbing, Master Garth, if you don’t keep your tongue quiet in presence of your elders,” exclaimed the latter.
“I have said nothing to offend any one,” said Ned.
“We are the judges of that,” replied O’Connor, beginning to knot his handkerchief in an ominous fashion. “You and Meadows are becoming too conceited by half, because the first lieutenant and the commander have taken it into their heads that you are something above the common.”
“I have no reason to suppose that from anything they have said to me,” answered Ned. “The first lieutenant merely advised me to go on doing my duty, and that is what I intend to do; I don’t see how that should offend you.”
“We are the best judges of what is offensive and what is not, Master Jackanapes,” exclaimed Rhymer, “so take that for daring to reply,” and he threw a biscuit across the berth, which would have hit Ned on the eye had he not ducked in time to avoid it.
“Thank you for your good intentions, Rhymer,” said Ned, picking up the biscuit and continuing to eat the duff on which he was engaged.
O’Connor meantime went on knotting his handkerchief, and only waiting for a word from Rhymer to commence operations on Ned’s back. Ned took no notice, but as soon as he had finished dinner he sprang up and made for the door of the berth.
