Mother Careys Chicken | Page 4

the while, he slipped off one of his shoes, stooped and picked it up, and drew out the letter all warm and crinkled up with the pressure.
"It's all right, sir," he said, smoothing and patting the letter, and handing it to his captain, before balancing himself on one leg to replace his shoe.
"Why didn't you carry it in your pocket, man?" said the captain angrily, and he tore open the letter and began to read.
"I say, youngster," whispered the sailor, whom the dog was still slowly going round and smelling suspiciously, "will that there chap bite?"
"Bite! No," replied Mark. "Here, lie down, Bruff!"
The dog obeyed, laying his head upon his forepaws and blinking at the visitor, whom he watched intently as if he were in doubt about his character.
"Looks a nipper, he do, squire," said the sailor. "He could take hold pretty tight, eh?"
"Take hold and keep hold," said Mark, who could not help a feeling of envy creeping into his breast--envy of the easy-looking, active little man who was to be his father's companion over the seas to wonderland.
"He looks as if he would," said the sailor after a few moments' pause. "I say, youngster, I'd rayther be ins with him than outs."
"What! rather be friends than enemies?"
"That's it, youngster. I say, what are you going to be--first-mate, and skipper arter?"
"No," said Mark, speaking in the same low tone as his questioner; "I'm not going to be a sailor."
"Lor!"
"It is not decided what I'm to be yet."
"Arn't it now? Why, if you'd come to sea along o' us what a lot I could ha' taught you surety. Why, I could ha' most made a man of you."
"Here, Widgeon," said the captain sharply, "take that back to Mr Gregory, and tell him I shall be aboard to-morrow."
"Right, sir," said the sailor, giving his head a duck and his right leg another kick out--courtesies called forth by the well-furnished room and the soft carpet, for on the bare deck of the ship he put off his manners with his shore-going clothes. "Day, sir. Day, youngster. Day, shipmet."
This last was intended for the dog; but, a few moments before, Bruff had slowly risen, crossed the room, and drawn the door open by inserting one paw in the crack, and then passed through.
"Why, he arn't there!" said Billy Widgeon after a glance round. "My sarvice to him all the same," he added, and went out.
The door had hardly closed when there was the sound of a rush, a roar, the fall of a chair, a crash of china, and a stentorian "Ahoy!"
"I shall have to kill that dog," cried the captain, as he and Mark rushed into the hall, where Bruff was barking and growling savagely.
"Down, Bruff!" shouted Mark, seizing the dog by the collar and enforcing his order by pressing his head down upon the oil-cloth, and setting one knee upon his side. "Why, where's--"
Mark did not finish, but burst into a roar of laughter, in which his father joined, as they both gazed up at the little sailor.
Explanation of the state of affairs was not needed, for matters spoke for themselves.
It was evident that Bruff had, for some reason, made a rush at Billy Widgeon, who had leaped upon a hall chair, from thence upon the table, upsetting the chair in his spring. From the table he had leaped to the top of a great cabinet, knocking down a handsome Indian jar, which was shattered to fragments on the oil-cloth; and from the cabinet springing to the balusters of the first-floor landing of the staircase.
There he hung, swinging by first one hand, then by the other, so as to get a good look down at his assailant, who was barking at him furiously as Mark rushed out; but Bruff had not the brains to see that if he rushed up stairs he could renew his attack.
"Got him safe?" said Billy Widgeon, as he swung by one hand as easily as would a monkey, and unconsciously imitating one of these active little creatures in the pose of his head.
"Yes; he sha'n't hurt you now," cried Mark.
"'Cause dogs' bites don't come in one's pay, eh, cap'n?"
"The dog's all right now, Widgeon," said the captain. "Here, Mark, shut him in the parlour."
"All right, father! but he won't stir now."
"Come down, my lad," said the captain. "You can climb over the balustrade."
"Bee-low!" cried the sailor in a gruff, sing-song tone, and loosening his hold he dropped lightly on to the oil-cloth within a couple of yards of the dog.
Bruff's head was pressed close down to the floor, but he showed his teeth and uttered a growl like a lilliputian peal of thunder.
"Quiet!" cried Mark, as Billy Widgeon struck an attitude with his fists doubled, ready for attack or defence.
"Lor', if you was aboard our ship,