“Give you?” said the skipper.
“A pound cash,” said the boy. “A golden sovring each. Tork about Christians! I wish I knew a few more of ’em.”
“Well I never!” exclaimed the gratified skipper.
“An’ the way ’e did it was so nice,” said the oldest seamen. “’E ses, ‘that’s from me an’ the skipper,’ ’e ses. ‘Thank the skipper for it as much as me,’ ’e ses.”
“Well now, don’t waste it,” said the skipper.
“I should bank it if I was you. It’ll make a nice little nest-egg.”
“I ’ope it was come by honest, that’s all,” said the mate.
“O’ course it was,” cried the skipper. “You’ve got a ’ard, cruel ’art, George. P’raps if it ’ad been a little softer you’d ’ave ’ad one too.”
“Blast ’is sovrings,” said the surly mate. “I’d like to know where he got ’em from, an’ wot ’e means by saying it come from you as much as ’im. I never knew you to give money away.”
“I s’pose,” said the skipper very softly, “he means that I put such like thought s into ’is ’art. Well, you’d better turn in, my lads. We start work at four.”