“Go on, Captain Tweedie,” said the other, turning a fine purple colour; “how much did you say it was?”
“Twenty-eight twos equals fifty-six; that’s four-and-ninepence,” continued Tweedie, his face relaxing to receive the cigar again; “and twenty-eight pounds white lead at twenty-eight shillings a hundredweight—”
“Three penn’orth o’ whiting’s good enough for me, matey,” said Captain Fazackerly, making a stand.
“See here,” said Tweedie, “who’s making out this disbursement sheet, you or me?”
“You are,” said the other.
“Very good then,” said his friend; “now don’t you interrupt. I don’t mind telling you, you must never use rubbish o’ that sort in a disbursement sheet. It looks bad for the firm. If any other owners saw that in your old man’s sheet he’d never hear the end of it, and he’d never forgive you. That’ll be—what did I say? Seven shillings. And now we come to the voyage. Ye had a tug to give ye a pluck out to the bar?”
“No; we went out with a fair wind,” said Captain Fazackerly, toying with his pen.
“Ye lie; ye had a tug out to the bar,” repeated Tweedie wearily. “Did ye share the towing?”
“Why, no, I tell ’e—”
“That’ll be three pounds then,” said Tweedie. “If ye’d shared it it would have been two pound ten. You should always study your owner in these matters, cap’n. Now, what about bad weather? Any repairs to the sails?”