“And she’ll just answer me back snappy that she ain’t making a mistake, any way,” prophesied Captain Gooster. “No, there ain’t no way out, that I can see, short of suicide. And,” he added, lapsing into extraordinary gloom, “I don’t know that I wouldn’t prefer that to that old gal with no money be’ind ’er! And as for you and a berth on the ‘Alert’,” he ended, savagely, “you just let me catch you on board ’er for a single moment, even on a visit!”
He swung round and strode off, totally disregarding the expostulatory noises of his companion. Mr. Dobb, thus deserted, sauntered along in restive dejection, but suddenly a greater decisiveness came into his bearing, and soon he was cantering along in eager pursuit of the master of the “Alert.”
“Now—now—now I ’ave got it, sir!” he puffed, catching up with Captain Gooster. “Come to me in a flash, it did! You must take me along to see the Goffleys again to-morrow night.”
Captain Gooster violently mentioned a mutual meeting, which involved considerable travel, as having priority over Mr. Dobb’s suggestion.
“You must keep on taking me there,” insisted Horace, undaunted.
“Just to make me laugh,” observed Captain Gooster, grimly, “tell me what the idea is.”
“Why, I’ll sink my feelings, and I’ll carry on a bit with the old gal!”
“Carry on with—” gasped the “Alert’s” skipper.
“Make goo-goo eyes at ’er, flirt with ’er, play slap-’ands with ’er,” amplified Mr. Dobb. “And if you don’t give me a job on the ‘Alert’ after that— Why, chaps ’as got medals for less than that! Far less!”
“Give you a job on the ‘Alert’ for playing slap ’ands with my missis-to-be?” queried Captain Gooster, in bewilderment.