“By burying them, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the man, seriously. “That is, when I were lucky enough to get a job.”
“Well, that’s a rum start, a fellow complaining of not being able to make a living out of the dead!” said Joe Jellaby to me, smiling; and then, turning again to the man he continued, “now, tell me what all this row is about?”
Here the Jew, who introduced himself as the keeper of a lodging-house in Portsea, put in his word.
“Dis shcoundrel vas owe me five blooming pounds,” he cried out excitedly. “I vash keep him ven he vash shtarving; and now, ven he got money, he von’t shettle. He’s a shvindler and a tief, s’help me; and I shvear I’ll have the law on him!”
“Why don’t you pay this man if you owe him anything?” said the lieutenant, sharply, to “Downy.”
“You’ve received your advance money from the paymaster, have you not?”
“Yes, sir; but I’d better tell you the whole story, sir,” said the ex-gravedigger. “I acknowledge owing Mister Isaacs some money, though he’s piled it on pretty thick, I must say; for I were four weeks out of work and had to board at his place.”
“Yes, s’help me, and ate and drank of the best, too. Oh, Father Moses, how he did eat!” interrupted his creditor. “Look you, sir, it’s only a mean shcoundrel that voud call a pound a week too much for good vittles. I’ll put it thick on him, I will!”
“Stop that, or I’ll have you turned out of the ship at once,” said Mr Jellaby, as the Jew made a dart at “Downy,” who dodged behind the marine sentry on the quarter-deck; while he repeated his injunction to the defaulter. “Pay the man his money and let him go.”