“That’s ’is modesty,” said the cook, turning to the others with the air of a showman. “’E can’t bear us to talk about it Nearly drownded ’e was. All but, and a barge came along and shoved a boat-hook right through the seat of his trowsis an’ saved ’im. Stand up an’ show ’em your trowsis, George.”
“If I do stand up,” said George, in a voice broken with rage, “it’ll be a bad day for you, my lad.”
“Ain’t he modest?” said the cook. “Don’t it do you good to ’ear ’im? He was just like that when they got him ashore and the crowd started patting him.”
“Didn’t like it?” queried the mate.
“Well, they overdid it a little, p’raps,” admitted the cook; “one old chap wot couldn’t get near patted ’is ’ead with ’is stick, but it was all meant in the way of kindness.”
“I’m proud of you, George,” said the skipper heartily.
“We all are,” said the mate.
George grunted.
“I’ll write for the medal for him,” said the skipper. “Were there any witnesses, cook?”
“Heaps of ’em,” said the other, “but I gave ’em ’is name and address. ‘Schooner John Henry, of Limehouse, is ’is home,’ I ses, ‘and George Cooper ’is name.’”