"Not worse than might be looked for, John, but they are most of 'em pretty bad. The language they use make my blood run cold, often. They seems to take a delight in it. The hands are bad enough, but the boys are dreadful.
"I suppose you don't swear, Will. They look too sharp after you, in the House; but if you take my advice, boy, don't you ever get into the way of bad language. If you once begin, it will grow on you. There ain't no use in it, and it's awful to hear it."
"I will try not to do so," Will said firmly. "Mother--I always call her mother--told me how bad it was, and I said I'd try."
"That's right, Will, you stick to that, and make up your mind to keep from liquor, and you'll do."
"What's the use of talking that way?" the skipper said. "The boy's sure to do it. They all do."
"Not all, John. There's some teetotalers in the fleet."
"I won't say I'll never touch it," Will said, "for I don't know, yet, how I may want it--they say when you are cold and wet through, at sea, it is really good--but I have made up my mind I'll never drink for the sake of drinking. Half the men--ay, nineteen out of twenty in the House--would never have been there, I've heard mother say, if it hadn't been for drink; and I told her she need never fear I'd take to that."
"If you can do without it on shore, you can do without it at sea," the skipper said. "I take it when I'm on shore, but there's not a drop goes out on the Kitty. Some boats carries spirits, some don't. We don't. The old man puts chocolate on board instead and, of a wet night, a drink of hot chocolate's worth all the rum in the world.
"As for giving it up altogether, I see no call for it. There are men who can't touch liquor, but they must go on till they get drunk. That sort ought to swear off, and never touch it at all. It's worse than poison, to some. But for a man who is content with his pint of beer with his dinner, and a glass of grog of an evening, I see no harm in it."
"Except that the money might be better spent, John."