One minute the miserable man was clinging there half fainting, the next he was swinging in the air and being slowly lowered down to the deck.
"You don't want sarving that way, my lad," said the boatswain laughing.
"Catch hold o' that rope and slide down.

I'll go this way." Mark shrank for a moment but seized the rope the next, and slid down so quickly that his hands felt uncomfortably warm, and he reached the deck as Billy Widgeon was unfastening the rope from round Jimpny's chest.
"Nice sorter sailor that, Captain Strong," said Mr Gregory sourly.
"Yes," said the captain quietly.

"Don't send him aloft again.

Let him help the cook." "Help the cook! Do you want to poison us, sir ?" "No.

The man has no nerve, but he may prove himself useful some other way." "You are a brave boy," said a pleasant silvery voice behind Mark, and turning sharply round, it was to see the major's little daughter hurrying toward the cabin, in which she disappeared.
"There, go below," said the mate angrily, "and don't show yourself to me again for a week." The stowaway rose and crept away, looking sideways at the sea, and somehow Mark could not help feeling sorry for his pitiful case.
Mark did not feel as if he had been brave, and as they sat at tea that evening and he looked across at where Mary O'Halloran was seated with her mother, he said to himself that if she knew all he had thought up aloft and what his sensations were she would have looked upon him as an impostor.
He felt so uncomfortable all that evening, and worried, that he longed to get away by himself, for the conversation seemed to be all about him.
"I should make a soldier of him," said the major to Captain Strong.
"The only career for a brave boy, sir, in spite of the disgraceful management at the War Office." Mark winced, and glanced towards those peaceful young gentlemen, the German agricultural students; but they were all three beaming upon him with their spectacles, looking about as round in the face and as inexpressive as so many enlarged buns.
He glanced at the little Scottish merchant, but he took snuff and nodded at him.
The stout doctor was looking at him and making notes in a memorandum book, as if he were writing down an account of the affair.
Mr Morgan was on deck; but Mr Gregory, as soon as their eyes met, deliberately winked at him.
He turned his gaze upon his father, to find that he was thoughtfully watching him; while, after receiving a friendly shake of the head from Mrs Major and a merry look from Mary, who seemed to be enjoying his confusion, as a last resource the lad looked at his mother, to find she had ready for him a tender smile.
"And she put three extra lumps of sugar in my tea," said Mark to himself.