“Dear me!” I observe. And the nose is one mass of humoursome corrugations.
“Aye, ’tis so,” continues the Chief Officer, pouring out “Black and White” for two. “An’ at that moment in comes Nicholas, his face serious-like, and says he, ‘Mrs. Ambree, ye’re wanted.’ An’ she goes out wi’ him, like Mary Queen o’ Scots to the block!”
“Mr. Honna, I’m surprised!”
“Not a bit of it, McAlnwick, not a bit of it! At first I thought Nicholas had been a fool and fetched a policeman, but Nicholas is no fool, as ye’ve no doubt observed. Still, I got out an’ put on me pants and went into the cabin. Passin’ the Steward’s door I heard voices. Enterin’ the Steward’s room, I saw him an’ the baggage splittin’ a Guinness and carryin’ on! ’Twas scandalous, Mr. McAlnwick. To be done by a wire-haired, leather-skinned old reprobate like Nicholas. ’Twas a clear case, for his wife does all his washin’ up at Bridgend.”
“I am shocked, Mr. Honna.”
“Ye may well be. I was too. Pass the water-bottle, Mr. McAlnwick.”
“I hear,” I observe, “I hear Alexander the Great is to have the Petruchio next time she comes in.”
“That’s the rumour, Mr. McAlnwick. I think there’s something in it, for me wife tells me that Mrs. Alexander was lookin’ at a house in Cathay only last week. ‘A house,’ says she, ‘that will be not less than thirty pounds a year.’ That means Petruchio, a big ship.”
The above personage, you see, is the Chief, the man who wore elevators in his boots.
“But why should he move into a larger house, Mr. Honna?”