"By Jingo!" said Bolton gaily, "I don't know why the thought strikes me that there's a very jolly tavern in Water-street where it's comfortable to be between a glass of gin and a bottle of porter. Can't you imagine it, Gripper?" "To tell you the truth," quickly answered the questioned sailor, who generally professed to be in a bad temper, "I don't imagine it here." "It's for the sake of talking, Gripper; it's evident that the snow towns Dr. Clawbonny admires so don't contain the least public where a poor sailor can get a half-pint of brandy." "That's sure enough, Bolton; and you may as well add that there's nothing worth drinking here. It's a nice idea to deprive men of their grog when they are in the Northern Seas." "But you know," said Garry, "that the doctor told us it was to prevent us getting the scurvy. It's the only way to make us go far." "But I don't want to go far, Garry; it's pretty well to have come this far without trying to go where the devil is determined we shan't." "Well, we shan't go, that's all," replied Pen. "I declare I've almost forgotten the taste of gin." "But remember what the doctor says," replied Bolton. "It's all very fine for them to talk. It remains to be seen if it isn't an excuse for being skinny with the drink." "Pen may be right, after all," said Gripper. "His nose is too red for that," answered Bolton. "Pen needn't grumble if it loses a little of its colour in the voyage." "What's my nose got to do with you?" sharply replied the sailor, attacked in the most sensitive place. "My nose doesn't need any of your remarks; take care of your own." "Now, then, don't get angry, Pen; I didn't know your nose was so touchy. I like a glass of whisky as well as anybody, especially in such a temperature; but if I know it'll do me more harm than good, I go without." "You go without," said Warren, the stoker; "but everyone don't go without." "What do you mean, Warren?" asked Garry, looking fixedly at him. "I mean that for some reason or other there are spirits on board, and I know they don't go without in the stern." "And how do you know that?" asked Garry. Warren did not know what to say: he talked for the sake of talking. "You see Warren don't know anything about it, Garry," said Bolton. "Well," said Pen, "we'll ask the commander for a ration of gin; we've earned it well and we'll see what he says." "I wouldn't if I were you," answered Garry. "Why?" cried Pen and Gripper. "Because he'll refuse. You knew you weren't to have any when you enlisted; you should have thought of it then." "Besides," replied Bolton, who took Garry's part because he liked his character, "Richard Shandon isn't master on board; he obeys, like us." "Who is master if he isn't?" "The captain." "Always that unfortunate captain!" exclaimed Pen. "Don't you see that on these ice-banks there's no more a captain than there is a public? It's a polite way of refusing us what we've a right to claim."