“Worse and worse, ma’am.”
“Oh, thin, maybe oaten mail tay would do? it’s a beautiful thing for the stomick, any how.”
“Rank poison on the present occasion, believe me.”
“Oh, then, blessed Mary, what am I to do—what is to become of me?”
“Go down at once to your berth, ma’am; lie still and without speaking till we come in sight of land; or,” and here a bright thought seized me, “if you really feel very ill, call for that man there, with the fur collar on his coat; he can give you the only thing I ever knew of any efficacy; he’s the steward, ma’am, Stewart Moore; but you must be on your guard too as you are a stranger, for he’s a conceited fellow, and has saved a trifle, and sets up for a half gentleman; so don’t be surprised at his manner; though, after all, you may find him very different; some people, I’ve heard, think him extremely civil.”
“And he has a cure, ye say?”
“The only one I ever heard of; it is a little cordial of which you take, I don’t know how much, every ten or fifteen minutes.”
“And the naygur doesn’t let the saycret out, bad manners to him?”
“No, ma’am; he has refused every offer on the subject.’
“May I be so bowld as to ax his name again?”