The boatswain thought of Mrs. Waters, and sighed. Then he rattled his pocket.
"Would arf a quid be any good to you?" he inquired.
"Look here," began the soldier; "just because I asked you for a pipe o' baccy—"
"No offence," said the other, quickly. "I mean if you earned it?"
The soldier nodded and took his pipe from his mouth. "Gardening and windows?" he hazarded, with a shrug of his shoulders.
The boatswain shook his head.
"Scrubbing, p'r'aps?" said the soldier, with a sigh of resignation. "Last house I scrubbed out I did it so thoroughly they accused me of pouching the soap. Hang 'em!"
"And you didn't?" queried the boatswain, eyeing him keenly.
The soldier rose and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, gazed at him darkly. "I can't give it back to you," he said, slowly, "because I've smoked some of it, and I can't pay you for it because I've only got twopence, and that I want for myself. So long, matey, and next time a poor wretch asks you for a pipe, be civil."
"I never see such a man for taking offence in all my born days," expostulated the boat-swain. "I 'ad my reasons for that remark, mate. Good reasons they was."