But he looked like anything but a man in charge of a ship. He was short. In outward appearance, moreover, he was like a wax doll. He had waxen-white cheeks with daubs of pink as if they had been put there from a rouge pot. His hair was nicely scented, oiled, and patted down. His small hands were white and perfectly manicured.
Nippers began to snicker openly at him. But the sharp variety and incisiveness of the oaths he vented at us, soon disabused us of any opinion we might have held that he was sissified....
"What's wrong with you, you young —— —— —— —— you?" began the captain. The snicker died slowly from Nipper's lips, and in his face dawned an infinite, surprised respect....
Then, after he had subdued us:
"So you're stowaways, eh?... and you think you're going to be given a free ride to Brisbane and let go ashore, scot free?... not much! You'll either go to jail there or sign up here, as cattlemen for the trip to China—even though I can see that your mouths are still wet from your mothers' tits!" And he ended with a blasphemous flourish.
Nippers and I looked at each other in astonishment. Of course we wanted to sign on as cattlemen. No doubt some of the men hired at Sydney had failed to show up at the wharf.
The ship's book was pushed before us.
"Sign here!" I signed "John Gregory" with satisfaction. Nippers signed after, laboriously.
"And now get aft with you, you ——!" cursed the captain, dismissing us with a parting volley that beat about our ears.
"Gawd, but the skipper's a right man enough!" worshipped Nippers.