“Not a bit,” said Findlayson, solemnly. “Let me offer you a cigar.”
The party roared at this.
“He doesn’t smoke cigars, Fin, old boy,” said the Donkey Engine. “Offer him a ton of coal Perfectos or a basket of kindling Invincibles and he’ll take you up. Old Funnel makes a cigarette of a cord of pine logs, you know.”
“I should think so much smoking would be bad for your nerves,” suggested Findlayson.
“’Ain’t got any,” said the Funnel. “I’m only a Flue, you know. Every once in a while I do get a sooty feeling inside, but beyond that I don’t suffer at all.”
“Where’s the Keel?” asked the Thrust Block, taking off one of his six collars, which hurt his neck.
“He can’t come up to-night,” said the Donkey Engine, with a sly wink at Findlayson, who, however, failed to respond. “The Hold is feeling a little rocky, and the Keel’s got to stay down and steady him.”
Findlayson looked blankly at the Donkey Engine. As an Englishman in a nervously disordered state, he did not seem quite able to appreciate the Donkey Engine’s joke. The latter sighed, shook his cylinder a trifle, and began again.
“Hear about the Bow Anchor’s row with the Captain?” he asked the Garboard Strake.
“No,” replied the Strake. “Wouldn’t he bow?”