Having been supplied with a fresh dose of gin and water, the seaman appeared to go to sleep, and Miles, for want of anything better to do, accepted Sloper’s invitation to play a game of dominoes.
“Are the beds here pretty good?” he asked, as they were about to begin.
“Yes, first-rate—for the money,” answered Sloper.
“That’s a lie!” growled the big sailor. “They’re bad at any price—stuffed wi’ cocoa-nuts and marline-spikes.”
Mr Sloper received this observation with the smiling urbanity of a man who eschews war at all costs.
“You don’t drink,” he said after a time, referring to Miles’s pot of beer, which he had not yet touched.
Miles made no reply, but by way of answer took up the pot and put it to his lips.
He had not drunk much of it when the big seaman rose hurriedly and staggered between the two tables. In doing so, he accidentally knocked the pot out of the youth’s hand, and sent the contents into Mr Sloper’s face and down into his bosom, to the immense amusement of the company.
That man of peace accepted the baptism meekly, but Miles sprang up in sudden anger.
The seaman turned to him, however, with a benignantly apologetic smile.