sent them, he should pay for the damage, eh, Captain Strong?"

"Yes," said the captain; "it was a cruel trick, for the sake of saving a
few pounds. But, as I said before, Jimpny, I shall not forget last
night's work."

"I thank you kindly, sir," said the man, "but I don't want nothing, only
a chance to get on a bit."

"And that," said the captain, "you have found."

The damaged cargo was thrown overboard, the hold pumped dry, and exposed
to the air as much as possible, and the risk they had all run began to
be looked upon as a thing of the past. But there was one personage, if
he could be so styled, who did not recover quite so quickly from the
troubles of that night, and that was Jacko, who suffered so severely
from the overpowering nature of the smoke in the hold that he became
quite an invalid, and had to be brought up on deck by Billy Widgeon, and
laid upon a wool mat in the sun.

The poor animal was very ill, but his ludicrous aspect and
caricature-like imitation of sick humanity excited laughter among
passengers and men. He used to lie perfectly still, with his face
contracted into comical wrinkles; but his eyes were bright and always on
the move, while, if Bruff were away from his side for five minutes, he
would begin to chatter uneasily, and then howl till the dog returned, to
take hold of his arm, and pretend to bite him, ending by lying down and
watching him with half-closed eyes.

After a while Bruff would utter a remonstrant growl, for Jack would set
to work trying to solve the problem why the dog's curly coat would not
lie down smooth and straight; and in his efforts to produce that
smoothness that he was accustomed to see upon his own skin, he sometimes
tugged vigorously enough to cause pain.

Mark was watching the pair one day, when Billy Widgeon came up.

"Why don't he get better?" said Mark. "He ought to be all right by
now."

Billy Widgeon looked at the monkey, which seemed to be watching them
both intently, and mysteriously drew Mark aside.

"That there settles it, Mr Mark, sir," he said.

"Settles what?"

"'Bout his being so ill, sir. I see it all just then in his wicked old
eyes."

"I don't understand you, Billy."

"Don't you? He's a-gammoning on us, sir."

"Gammoning us?"

"Yes, sir. That's his artfulness. He likes to be carried down to his
snug warm bed, and carried up again, and set here in the sun, and being
fed with figs and sweet biscuits and lumps of sugar. It's