“Hard? Did the skipper hit him hard, sir? What says you, Barney, and you, Neb Dumlow?”
This was to the two sailors who were generally pretty close to his heels, all three men being thorough messmates, and having, as I afterwards learned, sailed together for years.
“Did he hit him hard?” said Barney, slowly, and giving his mouth a rub with the back of his hand.
“That’s what I said, messmate; don’t get chewin’ o’ my words over five hundred times to show off afore our young orficer. Did he hit him hard?”
“Orfle!” said Barney.
“Then why didn’t you say so afore, ’stead o’ getting into bad habits, a-saying things for the sake o’ talking. Now, Neb Dumlow, just look the young gent straight in the face and say what you thinks.”
“Couldn’t ha’ hit him no harder,” growled the great fellow in his deep bass voice.
“Not with one hand,” acquiesced Hampton; “but you needn’t ha’ screwed both your eyes out o’ sight to say it, matey. Bad habit o’ hisn, sir,” he continued, turning to me, “but I’m a-trying to break him on it. Neb’s a good sort o’ chap if you could straighten his eyes; arn’t you Neb?”
“Dunno,” growled the man.
“Then it’s a good job for you as I do, mate. Ay, the skipper did give Master Jarette a floorer, and I’m sorry for it.”