The chief stoker glared. He had a rooted antipathy to all men who came to borrow tools, for as often as not they omitted to return them. This necessitated a game of hide-and-seek throughout the ship on the part of Gartin himself; while, when the implements were eventually retrieved, the edges of the chisels were generally found to be jagged, the saws blunt, and the punches broken. 'What d'you want 'em for?' he asked suspiciously.
'Ter cut a length o' three an' a narf wire in 'alves.'
'Ain't got none!' snapped Gartin.
Pincher knew full well that he had. 'We carn't do th' job without 'em,' he expostulated mildly.
'Can't 'elp that; you'll 'ave to do the best you can, or else borrow 'em off some one else. I ain't got no 'ammers nor chisels, I tells you!'
'But I see'd'——
'Can't 'elp what you see'd. I ain't got none; that's flat, ain't it?'
'Well, if yer really 'aven't got 'em I s'pose I'll 'ave ter go an' tell the bloke wot sent me ter borrow 'em,' said Martin with an air of resignation.
Gartin pricked up his ears. ''Oo was it 'oo sent you?'
'Fu'st lootenant,' said Pincher, inventing a polite fiction on the spur of the moment.