"We don't want you to say anything, Jack, my lad,"—the captain came down from the quarter-deck and became my old friend again. "Give me your hand. You're young, but there's never a better sailor afloat, is there, Captain Jaggard?"
"None, Captain Crowle—none. For his years."
"For his years, naturally. He's salt through and through, isn't he, Captain Jaggard?"
"And through, Captain Crowle." My skipper was a man of grave aspect and few words.
"Well, then—let us drink the lad's health." And upon that the cabin boy, who needed no further order, dived into the locker, produced a bottle, opened it and placed three glasses.
"No better Lisbon," said Captain Jaggard, pouring it out, "goes even to the table of the King—God bless him!"
"Now, gentlemen," Captain Crowle pushed a glass to me, "first, a glass to Miss Molly—my little maid. Jack, you've been her playfellow and you're now her servant."
"I could ask nothing better, sir."
"I know—a good and zealous servant. Drink it off—a full glass, running over, to Molly Miller."
We obeyed, nothing loth.