"Call him off!"
Mrs. Bunker ran up, and, seizing her chaperon by the collar, hauled him
away.
"It's the sea air," said she apologetically; "and he's been on short
commons lately, because he's not been well. Keep still, Rover!"
"Keep still, Rover!" said the skipper, with an air of command.
Under this joint control the dog sat down, his tongue lolling out, and
his eyes fixed on the fo'c'sle until the breakfast was spread. The
appearance of the mate with a dish of steaming fish excited him again,
and being chidden by his mistress, he sat down sulkily in the skipper's
plate, until pushed off by its indignant owner.
"Soft roe, Bill?" inquired the skipper courteously, after he had served
his passenger.
"That's not my plate," said the mate pointedly, as the skipper helped
him.
"Oh! I wasn't noticing," said the other, reddening.
"I was, though," said the mate rudely. "I thought you'd do that. I was
waiting for it. I'm not going to eat after animals, if you are."
The skipper coughed, and, after effecting the desired exchange,
proceeded with his breakfast in sombre silence.
The barge was slipping at an easy pace through the water, the sun was
bright, and the air cool, and everything pleasant and comfortable, until
the chaperon, who had been repeatedly pushed away, broke through the
charmed circle which surrounded the food and seized a fish.
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