“Was the painter drowned too?” inquired Joey.
“Ha! ha! that’s capital; why, the painter is a rope. Now, the old woman has been dreadfully put out, and does nothing but cry about little Peter, and not being able to keep her accounts. Now, you look very like him, and I think it very likely the old woman would take you in his place, if I went and talked her over; that’s better than going to sea, for at all events you sleep dry and sound on shore every night, even if you do have a wet jacket sometimes. What d’ye think?”
“I think you are very kind; and I should be glad to take the place.”
“Well, she’s a good old soul, and has a warm heart, and trusts them who have no money; too much, I’m afraid, for she loses a great deal. So now I’ll go and speak to her, for she’ll be alongside of us when I go on board; and where shall I find you when I come on shore in the evening?”
“Wherever you say, I will be.”
“Well, then, meet me here at nine o’clock; that will make all certain. Come, I must be off now. I’ll pay for the breakfast.”
“I have money, I thank you,” replied Joey.
“Then keep it, for it’s more than I can do; and what’s your name?”
“Joey.”
“Well then, Joey, my hearty, if I get you this berth, when we come in, and I am short, you must let me go on tick till I can pay.”