"Well, h'I do, then, so now. I 'eard the ole man spin the bosun the whole blessed yarn; an' believe me, byes, h'I wos that tickled to death, before I knoo where h'I wos the bally 'ooker wos two p'ints off 'er course."
"Heave ahead, mate, heave ahead; you're all aback. Swing yer fore-yards an' get sail on to yer yarn," broke in the impatient Red Bill again.
"Orl right, cocky, orl right. Dye yer 'air. That red 'ead o' yours mykes ye in sich a blawsted 'urry, you'll get jumpin' inter yer coffin one fyne dye afore ye're dead."
There was a laugh, for Red Bill was notoriously hasty and impulsive in his actions.
"Well," began the cockney impressively, "h'it were this wye. The bosun wos a-leanin' agin the rail to windward er-scannin' o' things in general, an' allowin' mebbe 'e'd take a pull on the weather braces, w'en h'up comes the ole man from 'is grub. 'E goes over to ther bosun an' 'e sez:
"'What sort of er'and is that man Derringer?'
"'Best man wiv a marlin-spike h'I've see'd fer a long time,' sez the bosun.
"'Well,' goes on the ole man, speakin' slow an' solemn-loike, ''es the man as did up Slocum on the I.D. Macgregor!'
"Byes, h'I could er dropped. Slocum, mind you, the bigges'-fisted lump of a two 'undred an' fifty pound bucko sailin' the seas—the man as can 'old a six-foot Noo Orleans buck nigger, one in each 'and, lift 'em off the deck, an' bash their ugly black 'eads together; h'I've see'd 'im do it——"
"That's so, mate," broke in Hank. "I were in Iquique wi' him when he killed er man—picked him up an' kind er bumped 'im agin the boat skids an' broke his head; the ole man put some lie in the log, an' there weren't no more heard of it."