BROTHER HUTCHINS
I’ve got a friend coming down with us this trip, George,” said the master of the Wave, as they sat on deck after tea watching the river. “One of our new members, Brother Hutchins.”
“From the Mission, I s’pose?” said the mate coldly.
“From the Mission,” confirmed the skipper. “You’ll like him, George; he’s been one o’ the greatest rascals that ever breathed.”
“Well, I don’t know what you mean,” said the mate, looking up indignantly.
“He’s ’ad a most interestin’ life,” said the skipper; “he’s been in half the jails of England. To hear ’im talk is as good as reading a book. And ’e’s as merry as they make ’em.”
“Oh, and is ’e goin’ to give us prayers afore breakfast like that fat-necked, white-faced old rascal what came down with us last summer and stole my boots?” demanded the mate.
“He never stole ’em, George,” said the skipper.
“If you’d ’eard that man cry when I mentioned to ’im your unjust suspicions, you’d never have forgiven yourself. He told ’em at the meetin’, an’ they had prayers for you.”
“You an’ your Mission are a pack o’ fools,” said the mate scornfully. “You’re always being done. A man comes to you an’ ses ’e’s found grace, and you find ’im a nice, easy, comfortable living. ’E sports a bit of blue ribbon and a red nose at the same time. Don’t tell me. You ask me why I don’t join you, and I tell you it’s because I don’t want to lose my commonsense.”