The Ugly Duckling is, you will readily believe when I tell you, a sketch from the life, and now that my memory brings him once more up before my mind's eye, I believe I am right in asserting that poor Mr. Duckling's face was more droll than ugly. Somewhat difficult to describe too. Forehead receded somewhat; nose nowhere, or hardly anywhere; eyes half-shut and full of fun; plenty of cheek, moral and physical; a longish, protruding upper lip; and an immense square jaw. His ears stuck out too, like lug-sails.
"Mind, Mr. Ugly Duckling," Bobbie told him one day at mess, "you must never get lost on the coast of Benin."
"Why, Scottie?"
"Why? How can you ask? Forgotten all your history? The king of Benin, you know, always nails his captives by the ears to a tree, and your ears you know, mon ami, are wonderfully suggestive!"
That day when the Duckling sat beside Admiral Jacko there was a good deal of amusement. The Admiral, I may tell you, was a very large and by no means handsome species of ape, and though he could not use a knife and fork, he ate most contentedly from the plate that M'Carthy the steward always placed before him, and he even used a table-napkin. On this particular day he more than once put his head cheek-by-jowl with the Duckling's, and the merriment increased.
The Admiral was exceedingly fond of the Ugly Duckling.
"Oh, look, mess-mates, look, now that their heads are together!" This from Bobbie. "Why, I declare that Jacko takes the cake!"
"For ugliness?"
"No; for beauty, boys!"
But Admiral Jacko had another very dear friend, namely, the ship's cat, a beautiful, half-bred brindled Persian.