“But I think it’s much cooler,” remarks the navigator, for that is the rating of the new-comer.
“Well, I’ll bet you it’s over ninety,” says the surgeon.
“What’ll you bet?” says the navigator.
“Oh, a cocktail, to-morrow forenoon. Then look for yourself,” says the surgeon.
The navigator strolls over to the thermometer and says, “Eighty-eight.”
“Be blowed for a yarn!” says the surgeon. “Let’s look.” But on consulting the mercury column he finds it stands at eighty-eight, so muttering a curse that everybody and everything is against him to-day he sits down and shouts to Ah Hing to bring some chow-chop-chop.
“Hurry up, Ah Hing!” says “No. 1” as he comes in. “Hullo, my pippins! What cher! Well, Pill, fisherman’s luck, eh? Shot anything?”
“Yes,” says Pill; “darned sight too much!”
“Well, tell us all about it. You’ve been grubbin’ round the Chinese city I suppose, Chief, lookin’ for curios?”
“Yes,” remarks the engineer officer; “and got two bits of blue and white china and a confoundedly ancient-looking joss.”