“Do you think, Mary, I could act well?”
“Oh, Miss Keane, how you do talk! Actors is low. Miss Gerty, always look your best; but acting—no, no, miss, I won’t have she.”
And Mary tossed her head regardless of grammar.
Mary was a little Essex maid that Miss Keane had had for years, and had succeeded in spoiling, as children are spoiled.
“Ah dear,” said the girl, “and to think that to-morrow is Jack’s coming o’ age, and he won’t be here! You don’t mind me a-callin’ of him Jack, does ye, Miss Gerty? Heigh-ho! didn’t he used to chuck me under the chin just, the dear, bright boy? ‘Mary,’ he says once, ‘when I comes of age I means to marry you right off the reel.’ And I took him in my arms and kissed him on what Tim would call the spur o’ the moment. Then Jack ups with a glass o’ ale—it were in the kitching, miss—and he jumps on to a chair and draws his navy dirk. ‘Here’s the way,’ he cries, ‘that they tosses cans in the service. And I’ll give you a toast,’ he says. ‘I drinks
‘To the wind that blows,
And the ship that goes,
And the girl as loves a sailor,
Hip, hip, hooray!’
But run away, Miss Gerty. Only no acting, mind. Oh dear, oh dear! I wish poor Jack would come.”
“Ah, Jack, my bo’,” cried Tom, meeting his friend on the quarter-deck just after divisions, “let me congratulate you. You’ve come of age this very morning. Tip us your flipper, Jack. Why, you don’t look very gay over it after all. Feeling old, I daresay—farewell to youth and that sort of game. Never mind; I’m going to see the surgeon presently. Old MʻHearty is a splendid fellow, and he’ll find an excuse for splicing the main-brace, you may be sure. Why, Jack, on such an eventful occasion all hands should rejoice. Ah, here comes the doctor!—Doctor, this is Jack’s birthday, and he’s come of age, and—”
“Sail in sight, sir!”