Yes, but you’re not; you’re a pretty girl—ha, ha, ha! We can’t use such sailors. Well, Daddy! And why don’t you want to go? Afraid of seasickness? You’ve already made one trip as middle boy——
Kneir.
And as play boy.
Jo.
He’d rather loaf and beg. Ah! what a big baby.
Bos.
You are foolish, boy. I sailed with your grandfather. Yes, I, too, would rather have sat by Mother’s pap-pot than held eels with my ice cold hands; rather bitten into a slice of bread and butter than bitten off the heads of the bait. And your father——
Bar.
[Hoarsely.] My father was drowned—and brother Hendrick—and Josef—no, I won’t go!
Bos.