Mary. Oh, Hank! what shall we do without you?
Hank. I tho’t o’ that. But a nice French Creole feller is takin’ my place to-day; an’ if he does well, p’r’aps you’ll keep him. If not, I’ll find somebody else afore we go.
Mary (to L. J.). When are you going to be married?
L. J. (loftily). As soon as we have made the needed preparations. Henry will explain.
J. Q. A. (to Hank). Then, that’s what you’re so rigged up for, ain’t it, Bub? in all them sailor slops. You look like a royal tar, a regular old Britisher.
Hank (sheepishly). Why, yes; you see, Leafy, she likes it. But as soon as the weddin’ is over (she wants me to be married in ’em here on the boat), I mean to put the whole rig away in my sea-chist, with them blasted books that deluded me into goin’ to sea; an’ that will be the last of my bein’ a sailor. I’ve had enough of it. Darn the bunks! I want to sleep on a first-rate feather-bed the rest of my life.
L. J. Law! Henry. How you do talk!
Hank. It’s a fact, Leafy, so there! (He goes up to her and tries to kiss her.)
L. J. (pushing him away). There! that will do, Henry. That’s seven times to-day since I came.
Hank. Is it? Well, ’tain’t any too many, anyhow!