"I dont know what you means by adamgratcolly. Is it one of your French ragouts, Mister B.?"
"No, it ain't; I forgot I was talking to a man of no education," replied the steward. "We'd better drop the subject."
"Come, don't be put out, old man; I was only joking—the fact was—now this is truth. The captain says, 'give my regards to Broiled-tight—beg your pardon, Mister Boyldwyte,—and tell him to give you all the little extras we require.'"
"We! who's we, Mr. Thompson?"
Jerry did not notice him, but went on. "We have lots of shirts and other linen, but we want more private brandy and some solder water, as ours is all out."
"Mister Thompson, I won't stand by and hear the likes of you, a person in your position in society, say we in eproximation with the name of our noble commander. I wont stand it, sir."
"Then," replied the sailor, "sit down to it, my pretty fellow, and hold your helloquence, or I'll call myself Co., there now."
This was a finisher for Mr. Boyldwyte, who thereupon procured the stores, and got rid of his tormentor. When the latter received the packages he asked if "there was anything in the message line for the captain."
The steward did not condescend to reply, so Thompson helped him to a parting shot.
"I say, Mr. B., can't you chuck in one of them long words of yours? One on 'em would be enough to give all the fellers ashore the colic," saying which his face resumed its melancholy cast; and waving a farewell to his victim, he went on shore.