'An' wot's this 'ere gal o' 'ers like?' Pincher wanted to know. 'Is she a cosy bit o' fluff too?'
'Cosy bit o' fluff!' exclaimed Joshua with some warmth. 'Wot d'yer mean, yer lop-eared tickler?[18] She ain't fur the likes o' you, any'ow.'
'Oh, ain't she?' Martin retorted. 'Well, I ain't comin' ashore along o' yer, then!'
''Ere, don't git yer dander up,' Billings interrupted, changing his tone; 'I didn't mean nothin'.' He was really very anxious that Martin should accompany him, for he had a vague idea in his head that the presence of a younger man would lend tone to the proceedings, and to him a certain air of respectability.
'Don't act so snappy, then,' the ordinary seaman returned. 'I'm as good as any other bloke.' He remembered that he was a member of the ship's football team, and this alone made him a person of some importance.
'Well, if yer really wants ter know, th' gal's name's Hemmeline, an' she's walkin' out wi' a ship's stooard's assistant bloke from the flagship.'
'Ship's stooards ain't no class!' Pincher snorted, expanding his chest to its full capacity. 'They ain't fightin' blokes same as me an' you.'
'No, they ain't,' Billings agreed, puffing slowly at his pipe. 'They ain't got no prospex neither. Look 'ere, Pincher,' he added, 'she's only bin along wi' 'im fur a week, an' if yer fancies 'er, my inflooence wi' 'er ma'——
'Meanin' that I can take 'er out?' Martin queried.
Joshua nodded. 'That's the wheeze,' he said, expectorating with deadly precision into a spit-kid at least eight feet distant.