“If things ’ad been different,” said the gratified owner, rolling his whisky round his mouth and swallowing it gently, “I’d have liked you to have ’ad her.”
“Thankee,” said Nibletts, quietly.
There was a pause, during which both men eyed the noble specimens of fish which are preserved for tavern parlours. Captain Barber took another sip of whisky.
“I’m going to use my own judgment, Nibletts,” he said slowly. “I’ve always rose superior to the opinions of other people. There’s nobody you know would give you a ship. I’m going to give you the Foam!”
Captain Nibletts, rising from his seat, crossed over, and taking his hand, thanked him in broken accents for this overpowering expression of confidence in him. Then he walked back, and taking his whisky from the table, threw it on the floor.
“I’ve had enough of that,” he said briefly. “When am I to take her over, Cap’n Barber?”
“So soon as ever you please,” said his benefactor. “Old Ben’ll stay on as mate; Fraser’s gone.”
Captain Nibletts thanked him again, and, clapping on his hard hat, passed hastily into the bar, his small visage twisted into a smile, to which it had long been a stranger. With the customers in the bar he exchanged remarks of so frivolous a nature in passing that the landlady nearly dropped the glass she was wiping, and then, crimson with indignation, as the door swung behind him, realised that the melancholy and usually respectful Nibletts had thought fit to publicly address her as “Gertie.”
In the same high spirits the new master swung hastily down the road to his new command. Work had already commenced, and the energetic Ben, having been pushed over once by a set of goods in the slings owing to the frantic attempts of the men at the hand-crane to keep pace with his demands, was shouting instructions from a safe distance. He looked round as Nibletts stepped aboard, and, with a wary eye on the crane, bustled towards him.
“Wot can we do for you, Cap’n Nibletts?” he enquired, with a patronising air.