Darlin': (stirring at the pot). He ain 't got whiskers like the Duke.
(She spits—must I say it?—she spits into the fire.)
Duke: Queer that never a stick washed in.
Patch: I 'm not denyin' yer, Duke. Where 's Red Joe now? It 's gettin' on. I 'll jest take a look fer him. (He takes the lantern from its hook and stands at the open door.) It ain 't blowin' so hard. Ol' Borealis—I speaks poetical—ain 't strainin' at his waistcoat buttons like he was.
Duke: Igerence! I pities yer. Borealis ain 't wind. He 's rainbows.
(Patch-Eye goes into the night. The Duke sits to a greasy game of solitaire.)
Duke: It 's queer, I says. Nary a stick! Jest Red Joe on top his dory! (He sings abstractedly.)
PIRATE CHANTY
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