they’d met. ‘Biggest ever I saw,’ says the one, ‘was when I was a-layin’ once off the east coast of Africa. Whoppers they was—and powerful? why, look here, now, blest if a swarm of ’em didn’t go bang through my main’s’l one day, easy as stones through a parlour window. What d’ye say to that, now?’ ‘Say?’ says skipper number two. ‘Why, I should say as how they must ha’ been the very swarm I met with once down Florida way. Whoppers as you state, and powerful, as you’d lead one to suppose; and every one o’ them with his little legs rigged out in a pair o’ canvas pants.’”
Then, too, the men used to go off frequently upon fishing excursions. While we were at sea, lines baited only with native hooks of iridescent pawa-shell trailed often from the stern, and secured us a welcome change of diet; but while we were in the bay, fresh fish, dried and drying, hung daily in the shrouds, and Tim was relieved of some anxiety as to stores. Poor old Cookie! The delay was hard upon him. “You know, I got word, last port, my little chap’s worse,” he wailed, “an’ here we are stuck up in this hole of a hole, and maybe he’s”
“Now, never you fret, Tim,” interrupted kindly little Mr. Black. “Kids is no sooner down than they’re hup. You look at my Ted, now. I was in just such another stew over him one trip—an’ you know the kind of a young devil ’e is now. Sings like a bloomin’ thrush, swears like a trooper, eats ’is five meals a day, and brings ’ome ’is money to ’is mother at the week-end reg’lar. You just take and cheer up, Timmie! It’s on’y the little born angels wot ’oists their wings so quick; and I take it you and yours ain’t fish and flesh, eh?”
