“I can’t, sir. I’ve expended all my money in buying clothes of this good lady here,” explained Downy, pointing to the fat, old bumboat woman. “I hadn’t a stitch to my back and had to get a rig-out for the voyage, sir.”
“Yes, sir, he’s ’ad three shirts, as is twelve-and-six, and cheap at the price, too, sir,” corroborated Mistress Poll Nash, with a low curtsey to the lieutenant. “Yes, sir, and two pair of trousers for thirty shillin’, besides a hoilskin and a serge jumper; and this monkey jacket here, sir, which makes three pun’ seventeen-and-six, sir.”
“Well, well, I suppose the calculation is all right,” said Joe, laughing at her volubility and the queer way in which she bobbed a curtsey between each item of her catalogue. Then, addressing poor “Downy” he cried out curtly, “Turn out your pockets!”
The ex-gravedigger sadly produced four sovereigns.
“Is that all the money you’ve got?”
“Yes, sir,” replied “Downy,” in a still more sepulchral tone. “Every ha’penny.”
“Then, pay this woman here, for you must have a rig-out for the voyage,” said the lieutenant. “I’m afraid, Mr Isaacs, you’ll have to wait till your debtor returns from China for the settlement of your claim. Your friend, the gravedigger here, will then probably have lots of loot; and, be better able to discharge his debt.”
“Ach, holy Moses!” cried the Jew, refusing with spluttering indignation the half-a-crown change “Downy” received from Polly Nash, and which he handed to his other creditor with great gravity as an instalment of his claim. “He vill nevaire gome back to bay me.”
“Oh yes he will,” said Joe Jellaby, chaffingly, “and probably, he’ll bury you, too, for joy at seeing your pleasant face again—all for love, my man.”
Mr Isaacs, however, got furious at this and used such abusive language both to “Downy” and the lieutenant that the latter gave orders at last for him to be shown over the side.