“Here’s a new shipmate for you, my lads. He’s small, but he’s the right stuff.”
The newcomer drew himself up, and regarded the crew with some dissatisfaction. For desperadoes they looked far too good-tempered and prone to levity.
“What’s the matter with you, Jem Smithers?” inquired the skipper, scowling at a huge fair-haired man, who was laughing discordantly.
“I was thinkin’ o’ the last party I killed, sir,” said Jem, with sudden gravity. “I allers laugh when I think ’ow he squealed.”
“You laugh too much,” said the other sternly, as he laid a hand on Ralph’s shoulder. “Take a lesson from this fine feller; he don’t laugh. He acts. Take ’im down below an’ show him ’is bunk.”
“Will you please to follow me, sir?” said Smithers, leading the way below. “I dessay you’ll find it a bit stuffy, but that’s owing to Bill Dobbs. A regler old sea-dog is Bill, always sleeps in ’is clothes and never washes.”
“I don’t think the worse of him for that,” said Ralph, regarding the fermenting Dobbs kindly.
“You’d best keep a civil tongue in your ’ed, my lad,” said Dobbs shortly.
“Never mind ’im,” said Smithers cheerfully; “nobody takes any notice o’ old Dobbs. You can ’it ’im if you like. I won’t let him hurt you.”
“I don’t want to start by quarrelling,” said Ralph seriously.