“You’d be if ye’d shinned up as many riggin’s as I hev.”
“Ye’re a sailor, then?”
“I be. No landlubber erbout me, is ther’? I reckon ye don’t see many sailors in these parts?”
“Ya-as we do,” snarled Arad impolitely; “more’n’ we wanter sometimes. I got a nevvy who was a sailor—a cap’n. Lost at sea erbout two months ergo. Lef’ me er great, hulkin’ boy ter take keer of.”
“Great Peter!” exclaimed the sailor, with some astonishment. “Ye don’t mean Cap’n Horace Tarr?”
“Yes, I do mean Cap’n Horace Tarr,” growled Arad. “He was my nevvy, an’ it’s his no ’count, wuthless boy I’ve got on my han’s. My name’s Arad Tarr—’n’ th’ only Tarr ’t ever knew ’nough ter make money an’ keep it.”
The sailor looked at the weazened old figure curiously.
“He didn’t favor you none,” he said.
“Who didn’t? Horace Tarr? I reckon he didn’t!” exclaimed Arad. “He favored a ca’f more’n he did anything else, ’cordin’ ter my notion. Did ye know him?” added the old man curiously.
“In course I did. I sailed with him—er—lots. Why, I was with him this ’ere las’ v’y’ge o’ his.”