"I've just found all the men I want, but I could do with another—if he is anything better than such things as those," and he nodded contemptuously at the figures of the four seamen. Then with lightning-like rapidity of utterance he asked, "You're not a foremast hand?"
"I want to ship before the mast," was the quiet answer.
"Got a mate's or second mate's certificate?"
"Yes; both."
"Last ship?"
"The Tawera, brig, of Tahiti."
"Ha! You're used to the Island trade, then?"
"Pretty well."
"Willing to ship as mate or second mate?"
"Yes, and no. Willing enough in one way, and not liking it in another. I'm hard-up, have no clothes, and should cut a sorry figure on such a smart-looking brig as yours when I haven't even a donkey's breakfast[1] to bring aboard if I shipped before the mast. And I'm not the man to stand guying, especially from beauties like those who were here just now."