Chris was feeling the contagion of laughter catching up with him again at the scene he had watched, and was glad when the sailor turned and came over to where he sat.
"A visitor, eh? Well, well. Off a ship?"
"No—no!" Becky put in quickly, and gave Chris a look. "No. He is a friend of the master's, from—" she searched her mind—"from another part of the country. He got here last night and slept late, as you see."
"Indeed and indeed!" said the sailor, settling himself comfortably, and as if for a long stay, in his chair and observing Chris through his keen blue eyes. "Well, young man," he announced genially, "I am Cilley," he said, and stretched out a hard brown hand.
"Christopher Mason," Chris said in return, and they solemnly shook hands, taking account of each other as men do when they meet.
"I shall sit here, Mistress Becky, by your leave," Cilley called out, as if Becky Boozer were a mile away, "to keep this lad company, as it were."
"So you shall!" Becky answered warmly, smiling broadly, wrinkles of pleasure at the corners of her eyes. "And could I tempt you with a morsel, Master Cilley?"
Ned Cilley appeared to consider this invitation from all sides before he gave his reply, cocking his head on one side like a parrot as he reflected. Finally, he answered.