“Well, you might ask the police about the money on the quiet like,” ventured the mate.
“Suppose you and Garnett go ashore and see about it without making any fuss. Garnett is a good one for such matters. It would hardly do for me, seeing as how I stand in the matter of husband.”
“Egg-zactly; we’ll do it right away;” and the mate hastened forward to take advantage of the opportunity.
Garnett and Enlis went ashore with what money they could get, and they entered a description of the missing stewardess with the police. “An old hag with side whiskers, having a wart under her left eye and all her teeth gone,” said Garnett, as he finished. “An’ I hopes you’ll soon find her,” he added, with a leer at the official. “Ye’ll know her by the way she swears.”
Several hours afterwards two exceedingly happy and drunken sailor-men staggered down the street towards the landing. A beggar accosted them, but after a search for coin, they protested they were cleaned out.
“Don’t make no difference. Give me clothes,” whined the mendicant.
“I’d give ye anything, me boy, for a weight is off my mind. Was ye ever married?” cried Garnett.
“Give the pore fellow clothes, Garnett, you swine!” roared Enlis.
Garnett staggered against a house and undid his belt. Then with much trouble he drew off his trousers and stood with his white legs glistening in the moonlight.