“Yes, sir,” replied the sick-berth steward, opening his mouth, and closing it again with a sort of snap, and uttering the two words as one. “Three of ’em now, sir!”
“Why, that makes the fourth lot this morning!” exclaimed the other plaintively. “The ship’ll be chock-full if they keep on coming in like this. Only at the beginning of the month, too!”
“Yes, sir,” agreed the steward. “Shall I make a start with ’em, sir?”
“Oh yes, carry on, Trimmens,” said the doctor, looking at his watch, and then sitting bolt upright in his chair with more alertness than he had yet displayed. “But, by Jove, you must look sharp! It’s close on lunch time, and we haven’t much time to spare.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the sick-berth steward in the same snappy, mechanical way; and then, turning to us, he said, “Which of ye came first, boys?”
“Me, zur,” replied ‘Ugly,’ stepping forwards. “I were first aboard this mornin’; an’, by rights, I comes first.”
“Boys have no rights in the Navy, or wrongs either if they behave themselves properly,” observed the doctor, giving my joker a ‘snop’ for his bumptiousness. “What’s your name?”
“Reeks,” replied ‘Ugly,’ a bit abashed. “My name be Moses Reeks, zur.”
“Leeks?”
“No-a, zur, Reeks. We spells it with a ‘har,’ double ‘he,’ and a ‘k’ and a ‘hess,’ zur.”