“No, I wasn’t,” answered the sailor emphatically. “You nor nobody else ever saw me drunk on a pint of brandy, and that’s all I took.”
“A pint!” cried Guy in surprise—“a whole pint?”
“Heavens and earth! what’s the matter?” exclaimed Flint sharply. “I know to a drop how much I can stow away. I can sail on and never keel under a quart. I was doctored.”
“But what made you touch it? You said you wouldn’t.”
“I know it, but I had to do it to settle the fight we got into. The landlord said if we’d take a drink all around he’d call it square, and we did. I tried to keep the others from falling into a trap, and fell into it myself. How did you come here, Jack?”
“I shipped aboard this vessel because I was told you had done so.”
“What’s your rate?”
“The agent put me down as an A. B.,” said Guy hesitatingly.
“He did!” exclaimed Flint, opening his eyes in amazement. “Well, you are a soft Tommy, that’s a fact. What made you let him do it? You’ve got yourself into hot water.”
“I know it,” replied Guy, with tears in his eyes. “I’ve been whipped a dozen times already, and the second mate says he’s going to haze me beautifully. What does that mean, Flint?”