"No more fogs and gales, to wear you out and perhaps drown you in the end, but your bed every night, and your armchair by the fire, your home and family, and me—me——"
"Little woman! But you mustn't forget, pet, that I'm not thirty-eight till next birthday. A man can't give up work and sink into armchairs at that age."
"Of course he can't. We can find some nice post ashore. There are plenty of things, if you look for them."
"Not for sailor men, who know nothing but their trade."
"Oh, heaps—any amount of heaps! And you can take your time, of course. No need to hurry for a year or two. You want a long holiday. You have never had one yet. And I want you. What's the use of money, if we can't enjoy it together? We have not had so much as one whole month to ourselves since we were married."
"Well, a sailor's wife must accept the conditions, you know."
"Yes, when necessary. But it is not necessary now that we are people of independent means."
"Three hundred a year isn't three thousand. And we've got to educate the kids, and put by for them."
"No need to put by for them when they are to have my money after I am dead."
"For myself, then. You wouldn't like to die and leave me to sell matches in the streets?"