'Not a solitary dime,' said Geordie; 'him and me quarrelled because my father fought him in the street, and I hit the old hunks with a bit of a brick because he got my dad down.'
'Wot was the row about?' asked the others eagerly.
'Nothin' to speak of,' said George; 'my old man said he was a blood-sucker, and that led to words. And I never hurt him to speak of. And yet I've shipped in one of his ships, and am as poor as he's rich. He allowed none of us would get a farthing: he shouted it out in the market-place, and said hospitals would get it, because, when one of his skippers that he'd sacked cut him up awful with a stay-sail hank, they sewed him up very neat at one of 'em.'
'There's nothin' so good in a fight as a stay-sail 'ank,' said Jack Braby, contemplatively. 'I cut a polisman all to rags wiv one once.'
'Was that the time you done three months' 'ard?' asked the port watch.
'Six,' said Braby proudly, 'and I told the beak I could do it on my 'ead. But, Geordie, if you was owner yourself what would you do?'
'Yes, wot?' asked the rest.
Geordie shook his head and sighed.
'I'd make my ships such that sailormen would be wanting to pay to go in 'em,' said Geordie. 'I've laid awake thinkin' of it.'
'Oh, tell us,' said all hands, with as much unanimity as if they were tailing on to the halliards under the stimulus of 'Give us some time to blow the man down!' 'Tell us, Geordie.'