"'My aunt! I'd give a month's pay f'r a quart,' the surly Britisher says fiercely.
"'A quart, why don't yeh ask for a barrel while yeh're about it; then I'd help yeh drink it,' I says.
"'Yer, yer blighted, perishin' idiot,' he shouts—it was him that'd broken his tooth. 'What, waste good beer on yer that's fit fer nothin' but cuttin' up into shark bait!'
"'That ain't th' way t' talk to a man as is always ready an' willin' t' help yeh,' I says reproachfully.
"The chap glares at me like a tiger with the colic. His language was awful. 'Lord 'elp us,' he finishes up with, 'why, yer've done nuthin' but try ter pizen us ever since we come aboard. Ain't I right, mates?'
"'Righto,' they choruses; an' I begin t' think they'd soon be gittin' up to mischief.
"'P'raps I might help yeh t' git some beer if yer was more respectful,' I says hurriedly.
"'Beer!' they all yells, an' looks up at me all to onct as if I was a dime museum freak.
"'Yes, beer,' I says quietly.
"'An' where'd you be gittin' it from?' asks one.