“I ain’t made up my mind yet,” said Mr. Dodds deliberately. “I ’ave thought of ’ouse property.”
“I don’t mean that,” said the other. “I mean, wot are you going to do with it now, to take care of it?”
“Why, keep it in my pocket,” said Sam, staring.
“Well, if I was you,” said Harry impressively, “I should ask the skipper to take care of it for me. You know wot you are when you’re a bit on, Sam.”
“Wot d’ yer mean?” demanded Mr. Dodds hotly.
“I mean,” said Harry hastily, “that you’ve got sich a generous nature that when you’ve ’ad a glass or two you’re just as likely as not to give it away to somebody.”
“I know what I’m about,” said Mr. Dodds with conviction. “I’m not goin’ to get on while I’ve got this about me. I’m just goin’ round to the ‘Bull’s Head,’ but I shan’t drink anything to speak of myself. Anybody that likes to come t’ave anything at my expense is welcome.”
A flattering murmur, which was music to Mr. Dodds’ ear, arose from his shipmates as they went on deck and hauled the boat alongside. The boy was first in her, and pulling out his pocket-handkerchief ostentatiously wiped down a seat for Mr. Dodds.
“Understand,” said that gentleman, with whom the affair of the half-sovereign still rankled, “your drink is shandygaff.”