The man from Astoria wavered doubtfully and looked up at the poop.
"I know that voice," he murmured. "That's Dodman."
"The pore chap's very drunk yet, sir," said Eales.
"Take him away for'ard," said Dodman, with a gasp.
"My name—ny name's Brogger!" piped the man from Astoria.
"It's Juggins—Bill Juggins!" said Eales firmly, as he took him by the arm. "Brogger's dead, Juggins. 'E's dead and buried. Lant's liquor 'as been too much for you."
And Juggins burst into tears.
"I thought I was Brogger," he said feebly. "But poor Brogger had a beard."
"So 'e 'ad," said Eales; "and 'e was as white as veal, and you're a fine, 'ealthy, dark colour. Come back and doss it out, my son. The pafettick story of the pore chap's death 'as been too much for you."
He and Corlett led the man for'ard and put him in his bunk, where he wept copiously.
"What are you so sad about?" asked Corlett. "You're no better than a soldier!"
