“Couldn’t,” said Rodd abruptly.
“Oh yes, sir; much hotter than this.”
“What! You’ve felt it hotter than this?”
“Oh yes, sir.”
“Then why didn’t you melt away? I should have thought you would run like a candle all into a lump.”
“Ah, that’s your fun, sir. Some of the lads has been telling you that I am fat. That’s a joke they have got up among them, just because I’m a little thicker than some of the others. But as I was a-saying, sir, they ast me to ast you—”
“Now it’s coming then,” sighed Rodd. “Phew! Wish all my hair had been cut off. It gets so wet, and sticks to my forehead.”
“Yes, sir, it’s best short,” said the man. “Just you look at mine. You should have it done like this.”
As he spoke the sailor took off his hat and exhibited a head which had been trimmed down till all the scalp resembled a dingy brush, for it was cut with the most perfect regularity, for the hair to stand up in bristly fashion for about a quarter of an inch from the skin.
“Why, who cut that?” cried Rodd, with something approaching to energy, this being the first thing that had taken his attention that day.