"Come on, Scamp," he whispered. "That was nothing but a temporary
disaccommodation to your tummy, doglums; we'll soon have you to
rights again."
He dived into the fo'castle with the dog behind him, and there were
those who noticed that the terrier's whip-like tail no longer hugged
his stomach, but was waving to the world at large.
And thirty minutes later, as the Puncher's launch put off with Curley
and Joe Byng comfortably seated in the stern, it was obvious to any
one who cared to look that Scamp was the happiest and healthiest
terrier in Asia.
"Now, I wonder what they did to him," mused the Puncher's commander,
watching from beneath his awning. "Those two men live up to the name
they brought aboard! I believe they'd find means and a good excuse
for walking to windward of a First Sea Lord!"
III.
Now an Arab would as soon allow a dog to lick his face as he would
think of eating pork in public with his women folk; so the bearded,
hook-nosed believers in the Prophet who looked down from the rock
wall that lines one side of Adra knew what to think of Curley and
his friend Joe Byng long before either of them realized that they
were being watched.
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