"Look here, young Harry Brooks!
Do you happen to be sickening for something, that you talk like a
gutter-snipe to a gentleman old enough to be your grandfather?
Or, damme, have you and Goodfellow been coming to blows? By the nose
of you and the state of your shirt a man would say you've come from a
street fight; and by your talk, that your head was knocked silly."
"It's all very well, Mr. Rogers," said I, sulkily, "and I know I
oughtn't to have spoken like that, but I hate to be tyrannized over.
That's why I didn't take your warning first along and pull back to
the ship--though I thank you for it all the same."
"Eh?" said Mr. Rogers. "My warning? What in thunder is the boy
talking about?"
"When you saw me sculling for shore, here, about an hour ago," I
explained, "you pretended not to see me, and went after Captain
Branscome; but I saw you, fast enough, standing on the bank yonder,
under the trees."
"For a certainty the child is mad!" Mr. Rogers stared at me
round-eyed. "_I_ saw you? _I_ pretended not to? Why, man alive,
from the time we left the ship I never set eyes on you (how should
I?), nor ever guessed you were ashore till we came back and found
your boat beside the dinghy. And as for standing under those trees,
I was never on the bank there for one second--no, nor for the half of
one.
Pages:
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292