Midshipman Fletcher Goes Up In The World

"You's lucky," Terry said. "All I ever get to do is clear up - an' a clip roun' the ear or worser if he don't fink I's quick enough." He decided the pain in his hand was bearable now. "'Ere, I'll finish that, shall I?"

Fingers shook his messy head. "S'cuz the pusser's a git. I gottit."

"'E is. The bastard." He wasn't going to argue; holding the hard wooden handle of the broom would probably just make his hand hurt all over again. "What sort of stuff 'as Mister Hennock bin teachin' you?" he asked, curious.

That required a little thought. "Nuthin' big. How t'pack cart'idges, how t'pick good roun' shot. Tha' sorta thing."

"Still better'n pushin' a broom aroun', though," Terry said, flexing his fingers and wincing a bit.

He couldn't help a giggle. "You gonna cry ever'where 'bout it agin?"

"Din't cry." Whatever else had happened, he'd managed not to cry. "Sweepin's still bloody borin' as all hell, though. Worse after 'e's 'ad at you wiv 'is strap, o' course."

"You did!" Fingers grinned. "Sobbin' like a girl, an' all!"

"Did not!" Terry retorted indignantly. "No more'n you would've!"

Fingers stuck his tongue out. "I woul'n't!"

"Would!" He gave Fingers a push.

"Woul'n't!" Fingers swished the broom at him.

"Would too!" He sidestepped the broom and poked the other boy.

It was like that, was it? Fingers giggled and swatted at him again. "Woul'n't!"

"Would too!" He batted at Fingers' hand and swatted at him in turn.

He bounced away and laughed. "Woul'n't! I ain't 'alf a girl."

"Who're you callin' a girl?" Terry said, following him to try to give him another shove. "Girl yerself, Fingers Smith!"

With a laugh, Fingers sidled away. "It weren't me waz cryin'!"

"Would've if 'e'd done you an' all!"Terry feinted one way and went the other, trying to catch his friend out.

If it weren't for the broom, Fingers might've been able to dodge away from his mate's grasp. Instead, his feet caught up around the long straw bristles and he sprawled headlong.

Right at the purser's feet.

"What is this nonsense?!"

Hell, damn and blast! Where had he come from?

Terry's hands dropped to his side as he gulped and turned to face the purser. "N... Nuffin', Mister Foxley... sir," he got out eventually, the words coming out in little more than a whisper.

The purser stooped quickly to grab the back of Fingers' shirt. "And to think," he snapped, hauling the boy to his feet. "That the gunner just gave a good account of you."

Fingers gulped. He was unable to move for the grip on his shirt. Great! "Sir?"

Terry swallowed. The grip on Fingers' shirt looked awfully tight and uncomfortable. It was kind of nice to know that Mister Hennock thought Fingers was all right, only what was going to happen now? He wished he could help his friend somehow, but doing anything would only make Mister Foxley even angrier than he was already.

He shuffled his feet and wished they were somewhere else, preferably a long way away!

"It's a shame," Mister Foxley went on. "Hand."

Oh hell! Fingers had no option but to stick his hand out, palm up, as the purser reached for that hateful leather strap.

Hell, no!

"Was... was my fault, mos'ly, sir," Terry said in a soft voice. He could take it - he was used to it. Fingers, on the other hand... He didn't want to watch Fingers get it, no matter what Mister Foxley did to him, if only he'd let the other boy alone.