“I’d not only give up the ocean,” thought Jack, “and my share of it, but also my share of the Harpy, unto any one who fancies it. Equality enough here! for every one appears equally miserably off.”
As he thus gave vent to his thoughts, he perceived that there was another person in the berth—Mr Jolliffe, the master’s mate, who had fixed his eye upon Jack, and to whom Jack returned the compliment. The first thing that Jack observed was, that Mr Jolliffe was very deeply pockmarked, and that he had but one eye, and that was a piercer; it appeared like a little ball of fire, and as if it reflected more light from the solitary candle than the candle gave.
“I don’t like your looks,” thought Jack—“we shall never be friends.”
But here Jack fell into the common error of judging by appearances, as will be proved hereafter.
“I’m glad to see you up again, youngster,” said Jolliffe; “you’ve been on your beam ends longer than usual, but those who are strongest suffer most—you made your mind up but late to come to sea. However, they say, ‘Better late than never.’”
“I feel very much inclined to argue the truth of that saying,” replied Jack; “but it’s no use just now. I’m terribly hungry—when shall I get some breakfast?”
“To-morrow morning at half-past eight,” replied Mr Jolliffe. “Breakfast for to-day has been over these two hours.”
“But must I then go without?”
“No, I do not say that, as we must make allowances for your illness; but it will not be breakfast.”
“Call it what you please,” replied Jack. “Only pray desire the servants to give me something to eat. Dry toast or muffins—anything will do, but I should prefer coffee.”