At
any rate, it was Irene who finally insisted that this must positively
be the last, and who threatened that she would not speak to him again
that day if he stirred out of his tent before dinner.
And, indeed, Dick required no rocking when, after a refreshing wash, he
stretched his long limbs in his hammock. His sleep was dreamless. He
awoke at sundown strong in the conviction that he had hardly closed his
eyes.
He and Stump shared the tent, and Dick's uncertain gaze first dwelt on
his skipper, who was seated at the door, smoking. Stump removed his
pipe from between his teeth:
"Good evenin', Sir Richard," he said solemnly. Then the huge joke he
had been cogitating ever since Irene informed him at luncheon that
Royson was now a man of title mastered him completely.
"Sink me," he burst forth, "I've had some daisies of second mates under
me in me time, but I've never bossed a bloomin' barrow-knight afore. My
godfather! Won't Becky be pleased! An' wot'll Tagg say? Pore old Tagg!
He'll 'ave a fit!"
"Look here, captain--" began Dick, swinging his feet to the ground.
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