“And I was a-thinking, sir, that p’raps you’d do it easier than me.”
“Why, Tom,” cried Murray angrily, “that is disobeying your officer’s orders.”
“Disobeying, sir?” said the man sharply. “Nay, sir; not me. Only you see, sir, you was a-telling me about the way in which them snakes pricked a man with their tails.”
“Tails! Nonsense, man! Teeth.”
“I didn’t ’member for sartin, sir, which end it was; but you said they did it so sharp, sir, that it killed a man out-and-out before the doctor could ’stract the sting.”
“Yes, I did tell you something of the kind, Tom.”
“Nay, sir, not something of the kind,” cried the sailor reproachfully; “that’s what it was azackly. And then you see, sir, I don’t want to brag, but you telled me yourself another time that I was a werry useful man.”
“That must have been a mistake, Tom, for you are not proving it now,” said Murray, speaking sternly but feeling amused by the man’s evasions all the while. “Why, Tom, I thought you were not afraid of anything that was solid.”
“No, sir, but you can’t call them squirmy tie-theirselves-up-in-a-knot things solid; now, can you?”
“Tom May, you’re a sham, sir,” said Murray sternly. “There, I am deceived in you. I’ll go myself;” and he made for the screen quickly.