“Tell us, Boggle, tell us!” cried the others eagerly.
“Why he turns round upon me his great yellow eyes, looking as if he could ha’ no secrets from a fellow who shared his earnings so handsome—’cause I stood treat all the time, and he says to me, in a slow whisper, just as a secret should be told——”
“Well, what did he say?” said Climberkin impatiently.
“‘What’s the odds?’, says he.”—The younger sailors laughed.
“And what is the odds?” asked old Hearty earnestly. “Arn’t we well paid, well fed, well clothed? and haven’t we plenty o’ every thing we want? So what’s the odds where we sail? I don’t care the twist o’ a rope’s end whether we go to India, or China, or Algiers, to any of the ports in Australia, or even to the most uncivilized settlements in Europe; and no true sailor cares on what water he floats, as long as he’s aboard a good ship, meets wi’ sociable mates, and is commanded by good officers.”
“I’ll be spiflicated if every word Hearty says isn’t true,” remarked Climberkin.
“And now I’ll just tell you what I knows o’ the matter,” continued Hearty, “which amounts to something more than Boggle could tell.”
“Well, what is it?” inquired Boggle, as eager as the others to hear some intelligence on the subject,—“you’re smartish, clever, or I’m ’staken; but though I must say my notion o’ you is tip top, we’re most on us liable to a false reck’ning.”
“You all know master Porphyry,” said the old man, without attending to the dubious compliment of the last speaker.