“I say, watch, he’s an Irishman!”
“Oh!” said I, as briefly as I could.
“Yes, and there’s a lucifer here tells me he’s no better than he ought to be. What do you think of that?”
“I think you and he ought to understand one another, if that’s the case,” growled I, unable to resist the temptation of a sarcastic reply.
“Ho, ho! that’s pretty good for you, watch. However, there are some folk who are not as good as they ought to be, let alone better.”
After a brief pause he began once more.
“He’s young; only eighteen, I’m told.”
As no answer was necessary here, I vouchsafed none.
“And he’s trying to get a job on some ship, there’s a nice look-out! What a poor figure you’d cut if you went to sea!”
I could not stand this, probably because I knew it was true; so I turned my back, and in self-defence bade good evening to an old pocket-comb which lay near me.