Captain: News? Oh yes, the news. I 've jest hearn—I 've jest hearn—blast me rotten timbers! How can a man talk when he 's dry! A cup o' grog!
(Darlin' has slipped into the room in the excitement. Old custom anticipates his desire. She stands at his elbow with the cup, like a dirty Ganymede. The Captain drinks slowly.)
Captain: There 's big news, me hearties.
Duke: What 's yer news, Captain? We asks yer.
Captain: I 'm tellin' yer. It 's sweatin' with curiosity that kills cats. (He yawns and stretches his legs across the hob.) Down in the village I learnt—I was jest takin' a drop o' rum at the Harbor Light. It 's not as sweet as Darlin's. They skimps their sugar. Yer wants ter keep droppin' it in as yer stirs it. I thinks they puts in too much water. Water 's not much good—'cept fer washin'. And washin' 's not much good.
Duke: Now then, Captain, hold hard on yer tiller agin wobblin', and get ter port.
Darlin': We 're hangin' on yer lips.
Captain: Yer need n't keep shovin' me. I kicks up when I 'm riled. They say down in the village—
(It is now a sneeze that will not dislodge. He has hopes of it for a breathless moment, but it proves to be a dud.)
Captain: There 's Petey—