“Well, Jackson, as the commanding officer has ordered me to remain on deck to watch with you, I don’t see why we shouldn’t be as comfortable as we can make ourselves. What do you say to this?” Hoppy produced a flask of rum.
“Wot do I say to it, eh? Wot I say is this: If that son of a gun aft don’t come on deck an’ ketch us, I’d like to jine you all right!”
“No fear of that, Jackson; he won’t come on deck until I call him. Help yourself!”
“After you, mate; I ain’t forgot my manners.”
“Here’s luck, Jackson!”
“Same to you, my hearty, an’ many of ’em!”
Then the gallant tar took his turn at the flask. Lovingly he held the generous liquor to his lips and quenched his thirst with a long drink.
“Blest if it ain’t mighty good of you, mate!” said Jackson gratefully. “That fellow aft don’t know how to treat men, an’ there’s a lot o’ growlin’ among the crew.”
“That’s a wonder, Jackson, and there’s no reason why he should be stingy about the grog. There’s enough of it aboard.”
“Then he’s a d——d liar!” hissed Jackson. “He sent word to the focsle that the supply o’ rum aboard was small an’ that the allowance must be cut down!”