Afloat at Last: A Sailor Boy's Log of His Life at Sea - John C. Hutcheson

“Bedad, sorr,” said he to father in his raciest brogue, and with that suspicion of mirth which seemed always to hover about his left eye, “it wor quite a plisure, sure, to sarve him; for he’s the foorst lad I iver came across as took so koindly to the thrade. ’Dade an’ sure, sorr, I belaive he don’t think none the worse av it now, by the same token; an’ would give the same anser, sorr, to what I’ve axed him more nor once since he foorst came aboord us. Faix, I’ll ax him now, your riverince. Ain’t ye sorry, Misther Gray-ham, as how ye iver wint to say, now?”

“No, not a bit of it,” replied I sturdily, in the same way as I had always done to his stereotyped inquiry. “And I’ll go again cheerfully as soon as the Silver Queen is ready again for her next voyage.”

“There ye are, sorr!” cried Tim admiringly. “He’s a raal broth av a boy entoirely. Sure, he’ll be a man afore his mother yit, sorr!”

The End.