“Sarvant, miss,” I says gruffly, getting my legs straight too, for there was something about her that seemed to compel one to be civil like, being such a bright-eyed girl, with red and white in her face and a set o’ teeth as couldn’t have known what it was to want to be pulled out in their lives. “Sarvant, Miss,” I says, making a scrape, and not a bit took aback. “I was only a-saying as worn—ladies ain’t no business aboard ships.”
“And why not?” she said quietly.
“’Cause all’s rough and ready, and folk’s tongues gets running too free afore them,” I says. And then to myself: “That’s one for you, Mr Jalap;” and then I turned towards the sick young man, whose sunken eyes looked brighter, and angry, and jealous like, as he held tight by his sister’s arm, and he says: “Come, lady, let’s go below. The sailor is right. Drink my health, my man;” and he threw me a shilling.
“That I will, sir,” I says, as he turned away, though I thought to myself it would want drinking a many times before I could do him any good.
The doctor looked rather black at me; but I wouldn’t see it, and got down cross-legged at my work, while Tomtit and he lit their cigars, and began walking up and down the deck.
Story 2--Chapter III.
What a wonderful deal a sailor can get to know if he only keeps his eyes and ears open! Of course, I mean aboard ship, where everything is, as you may say, close to your hand. Now, acting after this way, and being a rough, blunt sort of an old fellow—for I always looked old from the time I was forty—people would come and make friends with me, in a fashion, so that I got to know a deal. The doctor would have his chat on things in general, and give me cigars, and by degrees work round to the sick passenger and his case; and I soon could see that though he didn’t care a damp about the sick passenger, he took a deal of interest in his case, and I could guess pretty well why. Then Tomtit would come and fold his back, so that he could lean his elbers on the bulwarks, and he’d chatter about his birds, all the while smoothing his hair, and arranging his tie and collar, and brushing specks off his coat, as he kept looking towards the cabin-stairs, to see if some one was coming up; and when—being a thoroughly good-hearted, weak, soft-Tommy sort of a chap—he’d heave a great sigh, I used to shake my head at him, and say as I could see what was the matter with he, it was wonderful how friendly he’d get.
“I wouldn’t care if I had a few canaries on board,” he’d say. “They are such nice birds if you want to make a present to a lady.”
“Why not try a couple o’ doves?” I says.