“Your wife’s a peach, I guess. Hey?” “If she is, she’s a green one. Give us the bottle there.” “Is it true the Margaret fellow’s sweet on her?” “Who? Oh, that little crawler. There’s a picture of a man.” “I never had much truck with him. His look’s enough for me.” “For me, too. Look here, Iles. I’m sick of the company in the cabin. That old pirate, and those two twisters, and my wife sitting up like a cold jelly. Ah. Good luck. Sick of it. You come up and have supper with us to-night. And bring your fiddle.” “I guess old Brandyface’d raise a stink.” “If he does, we’ll call him down. He’s not going to dictate my guests to me. I’ll have in any one I like.” “Gee. That would be great. Hey?” “I’m not going to let an old pirate say who’s to be my friends.” “He’ll heave me quit of the cabin.” “I’ll heave him if he does. Pretty quick.” “Gee. I’d like to come. But he’ll be mad as hell.” “All the better. And those two twisters, too.” “That Perrin. Hey? He asked me one time what I did to make my hair grow.” “He’s about the damnedest fool I’ve met.” “Have another ball. There’s one bell. It’ll be my watch in a quarter of an hour.” “You’ll come, then?” “Oh, I’ll come. But gee, Mr. Stukeley, old Brandyco’ll fire me.” “We’ll have a bit of sport if he does. Bring your fiddle. Oh. Let’s have a song. Let’s sing ‘Tickle Toby.’” “No. I don’t know it well enough. Let’s have this one about the sailor’s wives. D’you know this one?” Until eight bells were made, Mr. Iles sang to Mr. Stukeley, who joined in the choruses, and sometimes offered a solo. The songs were all vile. They were the product of dirty drinking-bars, and dirty young men. Youth sometimes affects such songs, and such haunts, from that greed for life which is youth’s great charm and peril. That men of mature experience should sing them, enjoying them, after tasting of life’s bounty, was hateful, and also pitiful, as though a dog should eat a child. The couple went on deck together at eight bells, singing their scrannel for the mustering crew to hear. A few minutes before his watch was up, Mr. Iles gave the deck to the boatswain, and went below to dress. It was not his day for a first wash, but Mr. Cottrill gave him the first turn of the basin (it contained about a pint) on promise of a plug of tobacco at the next issue of slops. Mr. Iles washed himself carefully, in spite of Mr. Cottrill’s complaint that water so soapy would hardly serve the second comer, let alone the boy, who had the reversion of it after him. After washing, he combed his hair, put on his best suit, gave his shoes a rub of lamp-black, took his fiddle from its case, and went on deck to muster his watch at four bells. A few moments after four bells, while the dismissed starboard watch went whooping forward to supper, the steward rang the cabin bell, and Stukeley met his guest at the alleyway door. “Come in,” said Stukeley. “Before old Brandynose comes aft.” They passed aft into the cabin.