“Who sleeps in the hammock there?” the carpenter asked.
“The loblolly boy for the cabin,” the boatswain answered. “Young clumsy hound. I clumped his fat chops for him this morning.”
“Mr. Jermyn's boy?” said the carpenter, sinking his voice. “There's something queer about that Mr. Jermyn. 'E wears a false beard. That Mr. Scott isn't all what he pretends neither.”
“I don't see how that can be,” the boatswain said, “I wish I'd a drink of something. I'm as dry as foul block.”
“There'd be more'n a dram to us two, if Mr. Scott was what I think,” said the carpenter. “I'm going to keep my eye on that gang.”
“Keep your eye on the moon,” said the boatswain.
“I tell you what'd raise drinks pretty quick.”
“What would?”
“That loblolly boy would.”
“Eh?” said the carpenter. “Go easy, Joe. He may be awake.”