"Ay, my son."
The lad made t' go, with a duck of his head t' the skipper; but then he stopped an' faced about.
"Goin' t' turn in?" says he.
"No, son."
"By your leave, then," says the lad, "I'll be back t' bid you good night an' thank you afore I goes ashore."
"That's polite, my son. Pray do."
By this time the lad was skippin' up t' the deck an' Hard Harry was scowlin' with the trouble o' some anxious thought.
"Son!" says the skipper.
The lad turned.
"Sir?"