The nigger-boy let go the punkah string and sprang to his feet.
“Raggy Muffin stand befoh you, sah!” he said, bowing his towsie head.
“Right, Raggy. Now bring a bottle of claret.”
“Right you are, sah. I fetchee he plenty quick.”
“And I’ll bring myself to an anchor,” said Mr Dewar, “and have a glass of grog with pleasure.”
Respect of person was not the crowning virtue of this warlike youth.
The captain fidgeted uneasily.
“Well, sir, I’ve douced—I mean I’ve put out all lights. I have men in the chains—not that we’re likely to fall in with shoal water here, you know—”
“Oh, bother, you’re right to be safe. The Wasp ran aground in about this same place. Well, who’s watch is it?”
“Young Milvaine’s.”