“—— the manners!” said the mate, with tears in his eyes. “Where’s that dog’s manners? He’s eaten all that steak.”
Before the other could reply, the scuttle over the cabin was drawn, and the radiant face of Mrs. Bunker appeared at the opening.
“I can smell breakfast,” she said archly.
“No wonder, with that dog so close,” said Bill grimly. Mrs. Bunker looked at the captain for an explanation.
“He’s ate it,” said that gentleman briefly. “A pound and a ’arf o’ the best rump steak in Wapping.”
“Never mind,” said Mrs. Bunker sweetly, “cook some more. I can wait.”
“Cook some more,” said the skipper to the mate, who still lingered.
“I’ll cook some bloaters. That’s all we’ve got now,” replied the mate sulkily.
“It’s a lovely morning,” said Mrs. Bunker, as the mate retired, “the air is so fresh. I expect that’s what has made Rover so hungry. He isn’t a greedy dog. Not at all.”
“Very likely,” said Codd, as the dog rose, and, after sniffing the air, gently wagged his tail and trotted forward. “Where’ she off to now?”