Spike concentrated his gaze on a weedy young emigrant in a blue jersey, who was having his eye examined by the overworked doctor, and seemed to be resenting it.
"Dere's nuttin' doin' dis side, Mr. Chames," he said, at length. "I want to get busy."
"Ulysses Mullins!" said Jimmy, looking at him curiously. "I know the feeling. There's only one cure, and I don't suppose you'll ever take it. You don't think a lot of women, do you? You're the rugged bachelor."
"Goils——" began Spike comprehensively, and abandoned the topic without dilating on it further.
Jimmy lit his pipe, and threw the match overboard. The sun came out from behind a cloud, and the water sparkled.
"Dose were great jools, Mr. Chames," said Spike thoughtfully.
"I believe you're still brooding over them, Spike."
"We could have got away wit' dem, if you'd have stood for it. Dead easy."
"You are brooding over them. Spike, I'll tell you something which will console you a little before you start out on your wanderings. That necklace was paste."
"What's dat?"