“Active sarvice, captain! Why, I was on active sarvice when the admiral hailed me; and, I tell you, I never felt more fit for work in my life. Course I’d like to be your bo’sun, captain, but don’t you stand ’bout that. You take me, and I’ll sarve you afore the mast as good and true as if I was warrant officer once more. You’ve knowed me a lot o’ years, Sir Thomas; say a good word for me.”
“I’ll say you’re a good fellow, Strake, and a first-class sailor,” said the admiral.
“For which I thank ye kindly, sir. But you don’t say a word for a man, Master Syd. I know I’ve cut up rough with you, sir, often over plums and chyce pears as I wanted to save for the dessart, but my ’art’s been allus right for you, my lad, and never a bit o’ sorrow till I see you flying in the master’s face and not wantin’ to sarve the King. You won’t bear malice, sir, and ’atred in yer ’art. Say a good word.”
“Yes, Barney. Do take him, father.”
“It is a question of duty and of the man’s ability. Look here, Strake, if I say no, it’s because I fear that you would not be smart enough at your age. It is not a question of the will to serve.”
“I should think not, sir. Why, you won’t have a man of your crew more willing to sarve you right.”
“I know that; but the activity and smartness?”
“Activity, sir? Why, I’m as light as a feather, sir, and I’d run up the ratlines and away aloft and clap my hand on the main-truck long afore some o’ your youngsters.”
“Well, Strake, I’ll take you.”
“Why—”