murmured Gilbot, his head fell forward on his chest and his pot, slipping off his knee, fell clattering on the stones. The noise woke him, and he looked up just in time to see Pullen, knife in hand, standing in the middle of the room.
“Eh? eh?” the old man’s voice had the remnant of a note of authority in it. “Put down t’ knife, lad. Ain’t no good in knives.” His head fell forward on his chest again. “Why not shing happy shong?” he mumbled.
Joe grinned. “Ah,” he said slowly, “maybe the old’n’s right.” He handed the knife to the Spaniard who took it without a word. “I might have hit you—I ain’t a very good hand wi’ knives,” he said pleasantly.
The Spaniard smiled graciously. “Doubtless you will learn,” he said, his jauntiness returning, and then continuing, “Fair Mistress Anny, will you see these tapped?” and he pointed to five rum kegs which Blueneck, Habakkuk Coot, and one or two others of the Coldlight’s crew had just brought in. “Rum all round,” he said, “and the charge to me.”
By the time his last command had been obeyed, the company in the Ship was more noisy than before, and, answering to the call for a song, old Gilbot, having been assisted to his feet, leaned his back against the nearest ale barrel and quavered forth in a voice which evidently had once been very tuneful:
“Oh, no one remembers poor Will
Who shtayed by hish mate at the mill;
He ground up more bonesh
Than barley or stonesh,
And more than old Rowley could kill.”
“More bones, more bones,” roared the company as the rum flowed more freely.
“More bones! more bones!
And more than old Rowley could kill.”
“Ah, ha, may the Lord bless ye, fine gentlemen, and could ye spare a drop o’ rum for a poor woman to take to her man who’s dying o’ the cold?”
This request, uttered in a high-pitched whining voice coming from just behind the half-opened door, startled the revellers and they paused to listen, all eyes being fastened on the door. They watched it open a little farther, and round it just below the latch appeared the head of an old woman. The face, red and coarse, smiled leeringly, and the gray elf locks above it were matted and ill-kempt.