The old man courteously removed a short clay pipe from his puckered mouth in order to nod, and replacing it, resumed his glance seaward.
“Ever seen anybody like that?” inquired the cook, producing the portrait.
The old man patiently removed the pipe again, and taking the portrait, scanned it narrowly.
“It’s wonderful how they get these things up nowadays,” he said in a quavering voice; “there was nothing like that when you an’ me was boys.”
“There ’as been improvements,” admitted the cook indignantly.
“All oils they was,” continued the old man meditatively, “or crains.”
“’Ave you ever seen anybody like that?” demanded the cook impatiently.
“Why, o’ course I have. I’m goin’ to tell you in a minute,” said the old man querulously. “Let me see—what’s his name again?”
“I don’t know ’is name,” said the cook untruthfully.
“I should know it if I was to hear it,” said the old man slowly. “Ah, I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”