“Ay, ay,” replied the captain, “that’s much more likely.”
“Well, Mr Steward,” replied Mr Phillott, “I’ll be damned if you ar’n’t as big a liar as your—” (master he was going to plump out, but fortunately the first lieutenant checked himself, and added)—“as your father was before you.”
The captain changed the conversation by asking me whether I would take a slice of ham. “It’s real Westphalia, Mr Simple; I have them sent me direct by Count Troningsken, an intimate friend of mine, who kills his own wild boars in the Hartz mountains.”
“How the devil do you get them over, Captain Kearney?”
“There are ways and means of doing everything, Mr Phillott, and the First Consul is not quite so bad as he is represented. The first batch was sent over with a very handsome letter to me, written in his own hand, which I will show you some of these days. I wrote to him in return, and sent to him two Cheshire cheeses by a smuggler, and since that they came regularly. Did you ever eat Westphalia ham, Mr Simple?”
“Yes, sir,” replied I: “once I partook of one at Lord Privilege’s.”
“Lord Privilege! why he’s a distant relation of mine, a sort of fifth cousin,” replied Captain Kearney.
“Indeed, sir,” replied I.
“Then you must allow me to introduce you to a relation, Captain Kearney,” said the first lieutenant; “for Mr Simple is his grandson.”
“Is it possible? I can only say, Mr Simple, that I shall be most happy to show you every attention, and am very glad that I have you as one of my officers.”