“You go and be damned, Togle,” retorted Duff. “You know well enough that I’m speaking the truth; and mind, old chap, I shall keep you to your bet,—two months, you said.”
“I made no bet,” answered Togle. “You offered to bet yourself, but you didn’t propose what it should be,—a dinner at the Star, or—”
Just then a personage appeared at the door of the berth, who was immediately appealed to.
“Oh! come in here, Muhajiar; you’ll know all about it,” cried Jack Raby. “Take a glass. We haven’t seen you for some time. Have you heard whether we are going home?”
“So the purser’s steward told me, gentlemen, and it is generally believed throughout the ship,” returned the individual addressed, who entered with such a bow as he could contrive to find room to make, and took his seat at the table, where with much gusto he drank off the porter offered to him. He was a stout, tallish man, with a good expression of countenance, and most of those who remember Malta in those and even later days, will recollect him as one of the most respectable tailors in the place. He had been, I believe, in the marines; but getting his discharge, set up for himself as a builder of garments, and soon managed to establish a very thriving business. He was always on the watch, and the moment a ship dropped her anchor he would come on board to take orders. He knew everybody and everything that was going forward, and was, consequently, a great authority.
“Huzza! it is true, for Paolo Muhajiar has heard it,” exclaimed Togle, looking hard at Duff. “Well, Jemmy, I’ll let you off your bet—but you will see that I am right.”
Signor Paolo Muhajiar took his leave, for he was not likely to get any orders, at all events, to be paid, if he executed them; and the berth was soon cleared of its rightful occupants—some to go on shore, others to their duties, and the rest to see what was going forward in the harbour.
The scene there was amusing. There were boats of all sorts and descriptions alongside; but there is one peculiarity of which Valetta may boast, to the disadvantage of nearly all other ports. The boats intended for the conveyance of passengers are kept in good order, and beautifully clean; and the boatmen belonging to them are also very careful to dress neatly—their linen always looking as white as snow. Some of the boats alongside had goats on board, and the aquatic goat-herds were offering to milk them to supply milk for the officers’ tea. It is not a bad way to secure pure milk.
The three mids of the Ione—Jack Raby, Duff, and Togle—were on the poop leaning over the quarter-rail, and amusing themselves by discussing affairs in general, and watching the panorama round them, when a boat with two thin, slight lads pulled out of the dockyard creek.
“He for dive, signor,” sung out one of them, looking up at our mids.