“Peter,” I said, acidly, “I’m looking for a ship. Will you go along in her with me?”
“That I will,” he said, but I thought he was simply falling into my trap to gain time.
“Then, my weasel,” said I, turning to Mr. Henry, “you have two bully boys at your tow-line, for, sink me, I’ll hold my mate to his word if I ship in nothing better than a West Indian sugar-boat. Sail in, my bully. Let’s have the old tune I’ve heard so often.”
Henry drew up his chair and gloated over us. We were two good enough men to tempt any sort of crimp, but, on account of my size, he addressed himself to me as the leader. I have always had this happen when there were others around, but I take no especial note of it, for it was nothing that I was a well-put-up man. I had nothing whatever to do with my birth.
“You see,” said he, “I don’t make any bones wot I’m up to. I’m after men sech as you an’ me. My father were a Yankee sailor, though my mother were sech as I have to break the commandment wot arguefies for a long life every time I think of her.”
“You can honour her memory by keeping her name off your tongue,” I growled.
“Perhaps so,” he assented; “maybe, but she were hung right here in this town, and her property taken, so that’s why I’m lookin’ out fer men wot’s men. I get ten shillings a head per sailormen, an’ I stands in with the crowd. No shanghai business with me. It don’t pay. Why should a man ruin his business just to shanghai one or two men who will turn against him as soon as they come back, hey? A matter o’ a pound or two an’ a good name fer fair dealin’ gone. Oh, no! I don’t run fer bad ships. I only takes the clippers, an’ I give handsome.”
“What’s the hooker’s name?” I asked.
“That’s just what I’m coming to if you’ll only say the word to go in her. They want a mate, and they’ll pay a big whack for a good man.”
“Name, you wolf,” I repeated, draining my mug. “Give the name, or pay for this ale and clear.”