Part 25

“Comm’ere,” said the skipper sternly.

“Shove your dinner over first,” said four low, menacing voices.

The boy hesitated, then walked slowly towards the skipper.

“What are you going to do with that dinner?” demanded the latter grimly.

“Eat it,” said the youth modestly.

“What d’yer bring it on deck for, then?” inquired the other, bending his brows on him.

“I thought it would taste better on deck, sir,” said the boy.

“Taste better!” growled the skipper ferociously. “Ain’t it good?”

“Yessir,” said the boy.

“Speak louder,” said the skipper sternly. “Is it very good?”

“Beautiful,” said the boy in a shrill falsetto.

“Did you ever taste better wittles than you get aboard this ship?” demanded the skipper, setting him a fine example in loud speaking.

“Never,” yelled the boy, following it.

“Everything as it should be?” roared the skipper.

“Better than it should be,” shrilled the craven.

“Sit down and eat it,” commanded the other.

The boy sat on the cabin skylight, and, taking out his pocket-knife, began his meal with every appearance of enjoyment, the skipper, with his elbows on the side, and his legs crossed, regarding him serenely.

“I suppose,” he said loudly, after watching the boy for some time, “I s’pose the men threw theirs overboard becos they hadn’t been used to such good food?”

“Yessir,” said the boy.

“Did they say so?” bawled the other.

The boy hesitated, and glanced nervously forward. “Yessir,” he said at length, and shuddered as a low, ominous growl came from the crew. Despite his slowness, the meal came to an end at last, and, in obedience to orders, he rose, and taking his plate forward, looked entreatingly at the crew as he passed them.

“Come down below,” said Bill; “we want to have a talk with you.”

“Can’t,” said the boy. “I’ve got my work to do. I haven’t got time to talk.”

He stayed up on deck until evening, and then, the men’s anger having evaporated somewhat, crept softly below, and climbed into his bunk. Simpson leaned over and made a clutch at him, but Bill pushed him aside.

“Leave him alone,” said he quietly; “we’ll take it out of him to-morrow.”

For some time Tommy lay worrying over the fate in store for him, and then, yielding to fatigue, turned over and slept soundly until he was awakened some three hours later by the men’s voices, and, looking out, saw that the lamp was alight and the crew at supper, listening quietly to Bill, who was speaking.

“I’ve a good mind to strike, that’s what I’ve a good mind to do,” he said savagely, as, after an attempt at the butter, he put it aside and ate dry biscuit.

“An’ get six months,” said old Ned. “That won’t do, Bill.”