“George,” he shouted.
“Sir,” said the hero gruffly.
“Come down into the cabin,” said the other, turning away. “I want to have a little talk with you.”
George rose, and, first uttering some terrible threats against the cook, who bore them with noble fortitude, went on deck and followed the skipper to the cabin.
At his superior’s request he took a seat on the locker, awkwardly enough, but smiled faintly as the skipper produced a bottle and a couple of glasses.
“Your health, George,” said the skipper, as he pushed a glass towards him and raised his own.
“My bes’ respec’s, sir,” said George, allowing the liquor to roll slowly round his mouth before swallowing it. He sighed heavily, and, putting his empty glass on the table, allowed his huge head to roll on his chest.
“Saving life don’t seem to agree with you, George,” said the skipper. “I like modesty, but you seem to me to carry it a trifle too far.”
“It ain’t modesty, sir,” said George; “it’s that fortygraph. When I think o’ that I go ’ot all over.”
“I shouldn’t let that worry me if I was you, George,” said the other kindly. “Looks ain’t everything.”