"Silence! Moggy, will you?" said Jemmy Ducks, in an angry tone, "or I'll smash your peepers."
"You must climb on the gun to reach them, my little man," replied his wife. "Well, the more I holds my tongue now, the more for him when I gets hold on him. Oh! he's gone to his cabin, has he, to kiss his Snarleyyow:--I'll make smallbones of that beast afore I'm done with him. Flog my Jemmy--my own, dear, darling Jemmy--a nasty lean--"
"Go down below, Moggy," said Jemmy Ducks, pushing her towards the hatchway.
"Snivelling, great-coated--"
"Go below," continued Jemmy, shoving her.
"Ferret-eyed, razor-nosed--"
"Go down below, will you?" cried Jemmy, pushing her near to the hatchway.
"Herring-gutted, bare-poled--"
"Confound it! go below."
"Cheating rip of a wagabond! Lord, Jemmy, if you a'n't a shoved me down the hatchway! Well, never mind, my darling, let's go to supper;" and Moggy caught hold of her husband as she was going down, and with surprising strength lifted him off his legs and carried him down in her arms as she would have done a child, much to the amusement of the men who were standing on the forecastle.