“’Cause I was ’specting yer like, my lad—smelling yer over like, so as to think out what to say.”
“Go on, then; only say something.”
“So I will, sir, if yer really wants to hear.”
“Why, of course I do. Does my face show much?”
“Well, yes, sir,” said the sailor, gravely, as he went on rubbing one side of his nose with the rope. “You’ve got it pretty tidy.”
“Tell me what you can see.”
The sailor grunted and hesitated.
“Go on,” cried Aleck. “Here, my bottom lip smarts a good deal. It’s cut, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, sir. Cut it is, but I should say as it’ll soon grow up together again.”
Aleck pressed the kerchief to his lip, and winced with pain.