“‘I’m sorry to ’ear it, ma’am,’ ses Ginger, very respectful-like. ‘I suppose I’ve lost my mother, so I can feel for you.’
“‘Suppose you’ve lost your mother!’ ses the barmaid; ‘don’t you know whether you have?’
“‘No,’ ses Ginger Dick, very sad. ‘When I was wrecked the fust time I was in a open boat for three weeks, and, wot with the exposure and ’ardly any food, I got brain-fever and lost my memory.’
“‘Pore thing,’ ses the landlady agin.
“‘I might as well be a orfin,’ ses Ginger, looking down; ‘sometimes I seem to see a kind, ’and-some face bending over me, and fancy it’s my mother’s, but I can’t remember ’er name, or my name, or anythink about ’er.’
“‘You remind me o’ my boy very much,’ ses the landlady, shaking ’er ’ead; ‘you’ve got the same coloured ’air, and, wot’s extraordinary, you’ve got the same tattoo marks on your wrists. Sailor-boy dancing on one and a couple of dolphins on the other. And ’e ’ad a little scar on ’is eyebrow, much the same as yours.’
“‘Good ’evins,’ ses Ginger Dick, starting back and looking as though ’e was trying to remember something.
“‘I s’pose they’re common among seafaring men?’ ses the landlady, going off to attend to a customer.
“Ginger Dick would ha’ liked to ha’seen’er abit more excited, but ’e ordered another glass o’ bitter from the barmaid, and tried to think ‘ow he was to bring out about the ship on his chest and the letters on ’is back. The landlady served a couple o’ men, and by and by she came back and began talking agin.
“‘I like sailors,’ she ses; ‘one thing is, my boy was a sailor; and another thing is, they’ve got such feelin’ ’earts. There was two of ’em in ’ere the other day, who’d been in ’ere once or twice, and one of ’em was that kind ’earted I thought he would ha’ ’ad a fit at something I told him.’