Kit thanked him inwardly. After all the rough old fellow was a gentleman.
"Trying the distance with a bow-chaser," said the old man imperturbably.
"I'd have a lick back, only I can't spare no men for the deck carronades.
All below with Lanyon."
The tip of his tongue shot out, and made the journey of his lips,
cat-like. From behind that grim and weathered visage peeped the child,
arch, mischievous, infinitely cunning.
"Master Mouche, he _reckons_ I'm going to cross his bows and rake
him," he whispered. "He _reckons_ I'll keep my course to sarve
his consort the same. He _reckons_ to come up under my starn and
rake me fore and aft, while his consort wears ship and pounds me with
her broadside. That's his little game. 'Tain't mine though, ye know,
Mr. Caryll--'tain't mine." He rolled a blue eye on the boy; and in
that eye, twinkling cunning, bubbled the delight of a child about to
play a practical joke on an elder.
So unexpected was the effect, and so tickling--this grim old veteran
revealing in himself the Eternal Child who hides behind us all--that
the Frenchmen at their guns, hearing in the silence the sudden ripple
of a boy's laughter, whispered among themselves that the Englishman
had a woman aboard.
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