When all had quietly settled down to the soothing influence of nicotine in its best form, the skipper lifted up his voice and said—
“Weel, ma lads, A’am thenkin’ that we k’n dae nae less than gae through the haill reetual. This buik, ‘A Christmas Carol,’ is eevidently pairt o’ th’ programme, an’ as A’am nae that ongratefu’ I’ll juist read it, fativer it coasts ma.”
So he opened the volume, and read while the hard lines of the faces softened under the magic of the Master’s words, and in spite of the well-worn masks of indifference an occasional dewdrop of sympathy glittered like a diamond in the furrow of a bronzed visage.
* * * * *
“Ah wudna wuss tae interrup ye, sir,” suddenly interjected an ordinary seaman, “bit Ah thocht ye micht laik tae ken that thers a vessel juist lookin’ roun’ the point.”
“Man, ye’re richt, there is that. Weel, A’am neerly throu’, an’ as thon auld deevil Scrooge has been conveencit o’ th’ errour of’s ways (as we have), A’am of opingon we ma tak’ th’ lave o’ th’ storey as read. But ’twas a gey guid yarn, was’t no?”
By this time the ship of deliverance, having hove to, was getting a boat out. That laborious business over, the boat came at fair speed towards the only practicable landing-place, until the commiserating face of the officer in charge took on an expression of bewilderment as he noted the smug complacency on the countenances of the castaways.
It did not diminish when the skipper, gravely welcoming him with one hand, held out invitingly a decapitated bottle of extra special Scotch with the other, saying, with lingering sweetness in his voice—
“Mahn dear, here’s wussin’ ye a Merry Chrismuss.”