"The fight, sir."
"D—n me, Jack, I haven't settled it at all."
"That's bad, sir."
"I know it is; but it shall be settled for all that, I can tell him, let him vapour as much as he may about pinking me, and one thing and another."
"Pinking you, sir?"
"Yes. He wants to fight with cutlasses, or toasting-forks, d—n me, I don't know exactly which, and then he must have a surgeon on the ground, for fear when he pinks me I shouldn't slip my cable in a regular way, and he should be blamed."
Jack gave a long whistle, as he replied,—
"Going to do it, sir?"
"I don't know now what I'm going to do. Mind, Jack, mum is the word."
"Ay, ay, sir."