“I can’t find my trousis,” grumbled the old man.
“Did you ’ave ’em on larst night?” inquired Bill, who was still half asleep.
“Course I did, you fool,” said the other snappishly.
“Be civil,” said Bill, calmly, “be civil. Are you sure you haven’t got ’em on now?”
The old man greeted this helpful suggestion with such a volley of abuse that Bill lost his temper.
“P’r’aps somebody’s got ’em on their bed, thinking they was a patchwork quilt,” he said, coldly; “it’s a mistake anybody might make. Have you got the jacket?”
“I ain’t got nothing,” replied the bewildered old man, “’cept wot I stand up in.”
“That ain’t much,” said Bill frankly. “Where’s that blooming sojer?” he demanded suddenly.
“I don’t know where ’e is, and I don’t care,” replied the old man. “On deck, I s’pose.”
“P’r’aps ’e’s got ’em on,” said the unforgiving Bill; “’e didn’t seem a very pertikler sort of chap.”