“Ye got it warm in here,” says he.
“I got more than that, sir,” says I. “I got a thing to please you.”
Whereupon I fetched the bottle of rum from my bag.
“Rum!” cries he. “Well, well!”
I opened the bottle of rum.
“Afore ye pours,” he began, “I ’low I’d best––God’s sake! What’s that?”
’Twas a great sea breaking over us.
“Moses!” my uncle hailed.
The schooner was on her course: the fool had clung to the wheel.
“Ice in that sea, Dannie,” says my uncle. “An’ ye got a bottle o’ rum! Well, well! Wonderful sight o’ ice t’ the nor’ard. Ye’ll find, I bet ye, that the fishin’ fleet is cotched fast somewheres long about the straits. An’ a bottle o’ rum for a cold night! Well, well! I bet ye, Dannie,” says he, “that the Likely Lass is gripped by this time. An’ ye got a bottle o’ rum!” cries he, in a beaming fidget. “Rum’s a wonderful thing on a cold night, lad. Nothin’ like it. I’ve tried it. Was a time,” he confided, “when I was sort o’ give t’ usin’ of it.”