“But what I should like to know is, why——”
“An’ that thar’s just what I’m going ter pass up ter sooperiors. Orders is orders, y’ know, matie; an’ I shore am some strong when it comes to ’em. But I tell you what I can do an’ it ought’r sound like screeching good news; I can tumble a cup o’ b’iling hot coffee into you. Eh, what? A mug along ’ith some salt horse?”
“Sounds good to me!” I strove to echo his strain, as I threw my legs over the side of the bunk. “But how about my clothes?” For the first time I realized that I was wearing nothing but a coarse, sailor’s blue flannel shirt.
“Right t’ hand, an’ bone dry!” he chortled, as he edged his huge bulk through a narrow opening, beyond which I caught the glow of a small “shipmate” range.
Next instant he reappeared with my clothes over his arm.
“Did m’ best, laddie, ter get ’em into some sort o’ shape. Kind o’ draggled they was, as is natural. An’ the shoes are durned stiff, believe me. But they’ll come around——”
“Well, I should say!” said I, delighted to get into my own togs, “and I don’t see how you managed to get ’em as good as you did.”
The old fellow had actually made a pretense of pressing the trousers, though truth compels me to say that he had run the seams decidedly awry.
I was surprised to see how weak I was, for, even though there was scarcely any sea running, I lurched abominably as I put on my trousers.
“Coffee’s in order!” he announced, and once more sought the range.