“Steady, so,” said a fat burly seaman, as he steered in obedience to these sailing directions, and finally “cast anchor” beside our two friends.
“How are ye, Captain Bluenose?” said Bax, holding out his hand.
“Same to you, lad,” replied the Captain, seizing the offered hand in his own enormous fist, which was knotty and fleshy, seamed with old cuts and scars, and stained with tar. “Hallo! Guy, is this you?” he added, turning suddenly to the youth. “Why, who’d ’a thought to see you here? I do b’lieve I han’t seen ye since the last time down at the coast. But, I say, Guy, my boy, you han’t took to drinkin’, have ye?”
“No, Captain,” said Guy, with a smile, “nothing stronger than beer, and not much of that. I merely came here to meet Bax.”
Captain Bluenose—whose name, by the way, had no reference to his nose, for that was small and red—scratched his chin and stared into vacancy, as if he were meditating.
“Why, boy,” he said at length, “seems to me as if you’d as good cause to suspec’ me of drinkin’ as I have to suspec’ you, ’cause we’re both here, d’ye see? Howsever, I’ve been cruisin’ after the same craft, an’ so we’ve met, d’ye see, an’ that’s nat’ral, so it is.”
“Well, and now you have found me, what d’ye want with me?” said Bax, finishing the bread and cheese, and applying to the gin and water.
“Shipmet, I’m goin’ home, and wants a berth a-board the ‘Nancy,’” said Bluenose.
“Couldn’t do it, Captain,” said Bax, shaking his head, “’gainst rules.”
“I’ll go as a hextra hand—a suppernummerary,” urged the Captain.