“You've got a sty coming on your eye, Hall,” he remarked.
“I daresay.”
“If anybody's got a needle,” said the captain, who loved minor operations.
Nobody heeded him except the harbour-master, and he muttered something about beams and motes, which the captain failed to understand. The others were glaring darkly at Mr. Kybird, who had taken up a newspaper and was busy perusing it.
“Are you looking for anybody?” demanded Captain Nugent, at last.
“No,” said Mr. Kybird, looking at him over the top of his paper.
“What have you come here for, then?” inquired the captain.
“I come 'ere to drink two o' gin cold,” returned Mr. Kybird, with a dignity befitting the occupation.
“Well, suppose you drink it somewhere else,” suggested the captain.
Mr. Kybird had another supposition to offer. “Suppose I don't?” he remarked. “I'm a respect-able British tradesman, and my money is as good as yours. I've as much right to be here as you 'ave. I've never done anything I'm ashamed of!”