"Like this, miss. So 'elp me! All dy me and my mates wos a-working wheeling them ruddy dummies, miss, and a-working 'ard, so 'elp me. And Bill Pottle, my mate, says to me, 'e says, 'Gawd lummy, Tom, d'you know 'oo we've got on this 'ere tub?' 'e says. 'It's the Bermondsey Terror, Tom, the bloke we see knock out Texas Willie larst year.' So all of us thought we'd go and tyke a look at 'im, and a real top-notch good sport 'e wos, miss, 'oo said 'ed been a-drinking, wiv a Swede, and, 'Come in,' 'e says, 'all of yer!' So 'e begins a-telling us 'ow 'e beat the Dublin Smasher in eighteen seconds. And just when we wos all interested, miss, in walks this 'ere Abdul, yer see, miss, and starts rysing a row. And somebody says, 'Gorn' yer ruddy frog-eater,' 'e says, 'gorn back to yer ruddy 'arem,' 'e says. Then Abdul gets narsty and says, 'Ow, well, 'e'd rather be
a frog-eater than a-Britisher a-stuffing fuller roast
beef,' 'e says. And the Bermondsey Terror gets up and says, 'Ow, yerce?' And Abdul says, 'Yerce.' So Bermondsey sorter reaches out and taps him a couple, yersee, miss…"
"But he's all right, isn't he?" cried Peggy.
"Sure, 'e's all right, miss!" the other hastened to assure her, with a gesture of heavy heartiness. "Except 'e can't talk, yer see. Bermondsey 'it 'im in the vocal cords, once, yer see, miss… "
With her eyes brimming over, Peggy glared. "Oooh, you — oh, you nasty, brawling fighting… Can't talkl You take him back, do you hear? You work over him, do you hear? If he isn't in shape in half an hour I'll walk straight up and tell the captain, and I'll—"
She herself was incapable of speech. She dashed at the door, the thoroughly scared A.B. ducking out before her wrath. He was mumbling something rather defiantly to the effect that that was what Abdul had croaked out, and the Bermondsey Terror said he didn't care, and if any games tiled 011 him —Peggy slammed the door. "Goroosh!" said Captain Valvick, wiping his forehead. He* shook his head despondently. "Ay tell you ay seen roughneck ships before, but diss one of Old Barnacle's iss de worst. It iss hawful. Ay haff a cook once on de old old Betsy Yee which get mad and chase de whole fo'csl round and round de deck wit' a carving-knife; and ay t'ank now ay could get him a job on diss ship and he be right at home, Coroosh! what iss going to happen next?"
A faint, pleasant, gurgling noise behind them caused them to turn. The neck of a bottle had been tilted up among a brush of savage red whiskers. It descended. Red-whiskered and black-wigged, Curtis Warren regarded them affably,
"Good for the old Bermondsey Terror!" he said. "I'd like to meet that fellow. He'd make a good addition to our crowd. It reminds me a little of the way I served old Charley Woodcock about an hour ago… What does Abdul weigh, Peggy? Woodcock's fairly light."
Cool despair settled on Morgan, so that he felt pleasant Mini collected now. Nothing more, he was certain, could happen. They might as well bow before the Parcae and enjoy the gyrations of those relentless sisters.