“Yes, sar, I tink he have a little.”
“Be quick, Billy; and fetch it. I will give it you back at the tub to-morrow.”
“Suppose you forget, sar, you put me in very fine predicalament. Massa Courtenay look dam blue—no, he not look blue, but he look dam yellow,” replied Billy, showing his white teeth as he grinned.
“But I won’t forget, Billy, upon my honour.”
“Well, honour quite enough between two gentlemen. I go fetch the bottle.”
Billy soon reappeared with a quart bottle of rum, just as three bells were struck. “By gad, I rattle the bottle as I take him out—wake Mr Courtenay—he say, dam black fellow he make everything adrift—cursed annoying, he say, and go to sleep again.”
“Really, gentlemen, I cannot wait any longer,” resumed the master-at-arms; “the lights must be reported or I shall be in disgrace.”
“Very true, Byfield; you are only doing your duty. Will you take a glass of grog?”
“If you please,” replied Mr Byfield, taking off his hat, “Your health, gentlemen.”
“Thank you,” replied the midshipmen.