"Oh, very good,--I'll give you in charge for
this, you--you feller! Look at me coat! I'll send for a constable.
I'll--"
_Timbertoes_. "Belay, my lad! This here's Number Five, ain't it?"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (glancing down apprehensively at his
quivering legs). "Yes,--and I'll--"
_Timbertoes_. "Cap'n Beverley's craft, ain't it?"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (re-adjusting his ruffled finery). "_Mister_
Beverley occipies this here res-eye-dence!"
_Timbertoes_ (_nodding_). "Mister Beverley,--oh, ah, for sure. Well,
is 'e aboard?"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (with lofty sarcasm). "No, 'e ain't! Nor a
stick, nor a stock, nor yet a chair, nor a table. And, wot's more,
'e ain't one to trouble about the likes o' you, neether."
_Timbertoes_. "Belay, my lad, and listen. I'm Jerry Tucker, late
Bo'sun in 'is Britannic Majesty's navy,--'Bully-Sawyer,' Seventy-four.
D'ye get that? Well, now listen again. According to orders I hove
anchor and bore up for London very early this morning, but being
strange to these 'ere waters, was obleeged to haul my wind and stand
off and on till I fell in with a pilot, d'ye see. But, though late,
here I am all ship-shape and a-taunto, and with despatches safe and
sound.
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