‘No fear,’ he answered. ‘Tell ’ee what I’ll ondertake to do. What’s the hour now?’
‘Call it six o’clock,’ said I.
‘Well, I’ll ondertake by half-past six to have Sir Wilfrid running about these ’ere decks.’
‘And what’s the prescription, pray?’
‘Why, there’s a scuttle to his cabin, ain’t there?’
‘Yes,’ I answered.
‘An’ it lies open, I allow, a day like this. Werry well. Give me ten minutes to go forrards and black my face and dress up my head according to the notion that’s in my mind; then let me be lowered by a bowline over the side. I pops my head into the scuttle and sings out in a terrible woice, “Hullo, there, I’m the devil,” I says, says I, “and I’ve come,” says I, “to see if ye’ve got any soul left that’s worth treating for.” And what d’ye think he’d do at sight of me? Why run out of his cabin as fast as his legs ’ud carry him.’
‘More likely let fly a pistol at you,’ I exclaimed, laughing at the look of self-complacency with which the sour little fellow eyed me. ‘However, Mr. Crimp, we’ll leave all remedies for Sir Wilfrid alone till we see what yonder shadow to the southward is going to do for us,’ and so saying I stepped below to change my coat for dinner.