‘Yes, sir,’ answered the fellow, who was indeed the head steward.
‘What’s the matter with that Chinese idiot?’
‘Why, sir, his mistress’s parrot has escaped. He is responsible for the safe-keeping of the fowl, and he’s just missed him.’
‘Then it’ll ha’ been that bloomin’ parrot that’s been a talking aloft,’ said a deep voice from near the pumps; but I noticed an uneasy shifting amongst some of the figures standing there, as though that were a conjecture not to be too hastily received.
‘Here, John,’ shouted Mr. Cocker; ‘come up here, Johnny.’
The Chinaman, who continued to mutter ‘Oh-ai-O!’ whilst he gazed idiotically about him with much wringing of his hands, slowly and in attitudes of extreme misery, ascended the poop ladder.
‘Could this parrot talk, John?’ said Mr. Cocker.
‘Oh, him talkee lubberly. Him speakee like soul of Christian gen’man.’
‘What could he say?’ shouted the second mate, evidently desirous that this conversation should be heard on the quarter-deck.
‘Oh, him say “you go dam,”’ cried John.