"Report of what?" asked Devenish. But the steward would only chuckle and shake a wicked skull until the grog was served out and the pair seated, pannikin to pannikin, on either side of the packing-case that did duty for a table.
"I heard what you were talking about, you see," began Jewson, wiping the gray moustache from which the dye had almost disappeared.
"You generally do."
"And you generally know it, so where's the harm? But when I hear you talking about the second mate that was," continued the steward, showing a whole set of ill-fitting false teeth, "I do more than hear—I listen—and listen I will whenever I catch his cursed name!"
"Well?"
"Well, sir, it's right."
"What's right?"
"What the lieutenant was telling you. He's fallen on his feet this time. I've been to see."
"You've been to Mr. Dent's tent already?"
The prefix was a mark which it would have been against Ralph's instincts to overstep with an inferior. It was incongruous enough to curve the corners of the steward's mouth.