"Ay, ay, mum. Bosun o' the Admiral's gig."
"Oh, more than that, Mr. Jim. Chief officer, and cook, and gardener—what lovely peas!" It was much too dark to see the peas, but she knew they grew all around Jim's heart.
"Ah," he assented, and added with meaning, "takes a oncommon lot o' moistenin', though."
"It is thirsty weather, Mr. Jim." Mrs. Poskett was searching in her bag again.
Jim's eyes gleamed. "And a truer word you never spoke, Lady."
"Mr. Bosun," said Mrs. Poskett, insidiously, "I want to see the Admiral."
Jim shook his head gloomily. "Ah! 'tis dirty weather he's makin' of it, sure 'nough. He've a-locked hisself in by hisself if you'll believe me; an' he's a-swearin' somethin' 'orrible for to 'ear!"
"Mr. Bosun," said Mrs. Poskett, holding up a beautiful, bright new crown-piece between her finger and thumb, "would five shillings quench your thirst?"
Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, Lady, I can't say but 'twould take the edge off it."
To his disgust, Mrs. Poskett retreated a step. "But I must see Sir Peter."