“There’s one way to house a topm’st!”
“Broke your clothes-pole, old girl!”
“Better take in your washing there––looks like rain!”
“Go it, you beauty! I only wish I had my cameraw. If y’only suspected how lovely you look!”
Two big ocean tugs, one clear white and one all black, offered a change in looks, though in nothing else, for each one, with two barges of coal, was making desperate hauling of it, and the Breakwater yet a good bit away.
“Hustle ’em, you husky coal-jammers!” roared Parsons at them, as if he could be heard beyond the rail. “I wouldn’t be aboard of you for my share of the Southern trip––and mackerel away up in G, too. Would you, Billie?”
“Then? Naw!” said Hurd, with a wrinkling of his little nose.
“No, nor me neither,” said Long Steve. “Hi––ever hear the cook––ever hear George Moore’s song:––
‘If ever you go to sea, my boy,