He seized Gunter’s fist as he spoke, and gave it a shake so hearty and powerful, that he almost hurled that lover of cheap grog and baccy overboard.
“Hold on, skipper!” growled the fisherman, who was for a moment uncertain whether to return the friendly grasp or fight; but the fierce, wild, contemptuous laugh with which David Bright concluded the speech decided him.
“Y’you—you’re a jolly good fellow,” he stammered; “here, fill up again.”
The poor skipper filled up again, and again, until his speech began to grow thick and unsteady.
“Yesh,” continued Gunter, doubling his fist and smiting his knee, “I do like sheap grog an’ sheap baccy, an’ the Coper’s the place to get ’em both. Ain’t it?”
He looked up sharply at the owner of the Coper, who stood in front of him, and who of course assented cheerfully to the question.
“Ain’t it?” he repeated still more sharply, turning to Luke Trevor, who sat close to him with a grave, anxious look. “Why don’t you drink?” he added.
“Because I don’t want to,” returned Luke, quietly.
“D–do–don’t want to,” returned Gunter, angrily—for it takes little to make some drunk men angry—“You don’t want to spend your money, you young miser—that’s what you m–mean. An’ yet it’s sheap enough, I’m sure. You’ll not git anything in the fleet so sheap as you will in the Coper.”
“There you are wrong,” returned Luke, decidedly. “You’ll get things cheaper aboard the mission-ship, for they’ll give you physic, an’ books, an good advice, and help as far as they can, all for nothing—which is cheaper than the Coper’s wares.”