“Bah!” he exclaimed at last; “you’re a regular oyster butcher, Bob. It’s horribly messy.”
“Don’t you call things by ugly names, Master Carey,” said the old man, stolidly. “Butchers aren’t a nice trade sartinly, but think of the consekenses. Think on it, my lad. Who’s got a word to say agin the butcher when there’s a prime joint o’ juicy roast beef on the table, with the brown fat and rich gravy. Ah! it seems sad, it do.”
“What, to kill the oxen?”
“Nay, not it. They was made to be killed. I meant having all that beautiful stock o’ coal on board, and the cook’s stove ready, and no beef to roast. There, you needn’t look at my messy hands; I shall wash ’em when I’ve done. You look at the insides of them big shells; they’re just like to-morrow morning when you’ve got the watch on deck and the sun’s just going to rise. I’ve seen the sky like that lots o’ times, all silver and gold, and pale blue and grey. I say, seems a pity; we’ve got lots o’ crockery ware in the stooard’s place. Them shells would make lovely plates, painted ten hunderd times better than those we’ve got aboard. It’s just as if natur had made ’em o’ purpose. Just think of it eating—or drinking: which do you call it?—soup, oyster soup, out of an oyster shell, enjoying the look o’ the shell with your eyes. There, that’s the last of ’em,” he continued, as he wrenched open the last pair of shells.
“But I expected we were going to get some pearls as well, and out of these twenty great oysters you haven’t got one.”
“Haven’t I?” cried the old sailor, with a hearty chuckle. “Just you feel here.”
“I’m not going to mess my hand with the nasty thing,” said Carey, with a look of disgust.
“Who wants you to, sir? Only wants the tip o’ one finger. Here you are. Yes, and here, and here. I say, what do you think of that?” cried the old fellow, reaching out the shell he held. “Just one finger and you’ll feel ’em, nubbly like.”
“Pearls!” cried Carey, excitedly, and, forgetting all about the messiness of the great wet shapeless-looking mollusc, he used both finger and thumb. “Here, cut them out.”
This was soon done, and the boy sat with his face flushed, gazing with delight at three beautifully lustrous pearls lying in the palm of his hand glistening in the bright sunshine, one being of the size of a large pea, and the others of good-sized shot.