“Yessir.”
“Please, father, I would like a cup of coffee after the soup instead of a steak. I don’t feel very hungry.”
“All right, lass. Waiter, knock off one o’ the steaks an’ clap a cup o’ coffee in its place.”
“Yessir. Roll with it, Miss?”
“Of course,” said Haco.
“Butter, Miss?”
“Sartinly. An’ double allowance o’ milk an’ sugar,” replied the skipper. “S’pose you han’t got cream?”
“No sir.”
“Never mind. Look alive now, lad. Come, Susan, here’s a box with only one man in’t, we’ll— Hallo! shiver my timbers if it ain’t—no—it can’t be—Stephen Gaff, eh! or his ghost?”
“Just so,” said Stephen, laying down his knife and fork, and shaking warmly the hand which Haco stretched across the table to him; “I’m always turnin’ up now an’ again like a bad shillin’. How goes life with ’ee, Haco? you don’t seem to have multiplied the wrinkles since I last saw ye.”