“’Ard on us too,” said the cook honestly. “There he is!”
The other glanced up at a figure waving to them from the stairs. “’E wants the boat,” he said, moving aft.
“No ’e don’t, Steve,” piped the boy. “’E’s waving you not to. He’s coming in the waterman’s skiff.”
“Ha! same old tale,” said the seaman wisely. “Chap comes in for a bit o’ money and begins to waste it directly. There’s threepence gone; clean chucked away. Look at ’im. Just look at him!”
“’E’s got the money all right,” said the cook, “there’s no doubt about that. Why, ’e looks ’arf as large again as ’e did this morning.”
The crew bent over the side as the skiff approached, and the fare, who had been leaning back in the stern with a severely important air, rose slowly and felt in his trousers-pocket.
“There’s sixpence for you, my lad,” he said pompously. “Never mind about the change.”
“All right, old slack-breeches,” said the waterman with effusive good-fellowship: “up you get.”
Three pairs of hands assisted the offended fare on board, and the boy hovering round him slapped his legs vigorously.
“Wot are you up to?” demanded Mr. Samuel Dodds, A.B., turning on him.