"Heaps--nothin' t' do--hot spells--v'yages." He added, with an
approach to a twinkle in his meek and cow-like eyes, "Try it--some
day--git tired of ol' Cap'n--ol' rock--pooty soon--take ye--v'yage--"
His speech was interrupted by a sudden and violent dash of water in
his face.
"Take that!" cried Star, panting with fury, and flinging the water
at him with all her small might. "I wish it was sharp stones, instead
of just water. I wish it was needles, and jagged rocks, and quills
upon the fretful porkypine, so I do! How dare you say such things
to me, Bob Peet? How dare you?" She paused, breathless, but with
flashing eyes and burning cheeks; while Bob meekly mopped his face
and head with a red cotton handkerchief, and shook the water from
his ears, eyeing her the while with humble and deprecatory looks.
"No offence," he muttered, in apologetic thunder-rumble. "Poor ol'
Bob--eh, Missy? Sorry, beg pardon! Never no more. Didn't mean
it--nohow!"
The tempest subsided as suddenly as it rose, and Star, with a
forgiving nod, took out her own little handkerchief and daintily wiped
a few drops from her victim's forehead.
"You're so stupid, Bob," she said, frankly, "that I suppose I ought
not to get angry with you, any more than I would with Imogen, though
even she provokes me sometimes.
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