'You're a liar, I wouldn't,' roared Geordie.
'Maybe I am a liar,' said the old chap, 'but I've seen what I've looked at. If you was to learn as your huncle was dead now, you'd go aft and set about on the poop and see hus doin' pulley-hauley, with a seegar in your teeth. Riches spoils a man, and it can't be helped: it 'as to, somehow. I've no fault to find with you now, Geordie Potts; for so young a man you're a good seaman and a good shipmate (though you 'ave called me a liar), but, you take my word for it, money would make an 'og of you.'
And here was matter for high debate, which lasted all through the Trades, through the Horse Latitudes, and into the region of the brave west winds, till the Patriarch had made more than half her easting.
'So I'm to be a mean swab, and a real swine, when I'm rich,' said Geordie. 'Eh, well, have it your own way. There's times some of you makes me feel I'd like to make you sit up.'
''Ear, 'ear,' said the old fo'c'sleman, 'there's the very thought of 'aughty richness workin' in 'is mind, shipmates. What'll the real thing do if 'is huncle pegs out sudden?'
It was curious to note that a certain subdued hostility rose up between most of the men and Geordie. They sat apart and discussed him. Even Jack Braby threw out dark and melancholy hints that they wouldn't be chums any more if old Tyser's money came to his nephew. There were at times faint suggestions that Geordie was getting touched with his possible prosperity.
'I'll live ashore and have a public-house,' said Geordie Potts.
And they picked up Cape Otway light in due time, and ran through Port Phillip Heads by and by, and came to an anchor off Sandridge. Presently they berthed alongside the pier, and began to discharge their cargo; and one hot day went by like another till they were empty and began to fill up again with wool. In six weeks they were almost ready for sea once more. And the very night before they hauled out from their berth and lay at anchor in the bay, Geordie went ashore at six o'clock 'all by his lonesome,' as he and Jack Braby had fought over the job which Braby was to get from his mate when old Tyser died intestate. And as he got to the end of the pier he met a young clerk from the agents' office who knew him by sight.
'I say, I'm in a great hurry,' said the boy, 'my girl's waiting for me. Will you take these letters to Captain Smith, or I'll miss my train back? I'll give you a bob.'
'Right oh!' said Geordie, and he pouched the shilling and the letters, and the young fellow ran for his train.