"Not pay for the onions! No, to be sure I didn't; but I gave her a fresh order, which is the same thing." (Price laid down the potato which he was in the act of peeling, and stared at Courtenay with astonishment.) "Well, to a London tradesman, it is, I can assure you." "It may be, but I cannot conceive how. If you owe me ten shillings, I can't consider borrowing ten more the same thing as paying the first." "Pooh! you do not understand these things." "I do not, most certainly," replied the master, resuming his potato. "And so you haven't got them?" resumed Courtenay to the servant. "No, sar. She say Massa Kartney owe nine shillings for onuns, and say I owe farteen for 'baccy, and not trust us any more. I tell just as she say, sir. Gentleman never pay for anything. She call me damned nigger, and say, like massa like man. I tell her not give any more _rhoromantade_, and walk out of shop." "Well, how cursed annoying! Now, I never set my mind upon anything but I'm disappointed. One might as well be Sancho in the Isle of Barataria. I think I'll go up to the captain, and ask him to heave-to, while I send for them. Do you think he would, master, eh?" said Courtenay, in affected simplicity of interrogation. "You had better try him," replied Pearce, laughing. "Well, it would be very considerate of him, and pickled cabbage is the only thing that cures my sea-sickness."--(Perceiving Price about to speak)--"Stop now--it's no use--there's not a word about pickled cabbage in Shakespeare." "I did not say that there was," retorted Price; "but there's `beef without mustard,' and that will be your case now." "And there's `Write me down an ass,'" replied Courtenay, who was not a little vexed at the loss of his favourite condiment. "Did you hear what Courtenay said of you, O'Keefe?" continued Price, turning to the purser. "Yes--yes--I know--hand him over a glass; but this is not a clane one. Steward, will you bring a clane wine-glass?" The rest laughed, while Courtenay proceeded. "Why, O'Keefe, you hear better than ever. I say, doctor, you must put me in the sick list--I'm not fit to take charge of a watch." "If you'll prove that to me," replied Macallan, "I certainly will report you." "Well, I'll prove it to you in five seconds. I'm just in that state, that if everything in the ship was to go overboard to the devil, I shouldn't care. Now, with such a feeling of indifference, a person is not fit to be trusted with the charge of a watch." "That you're not fit to be trusted with the charge of a watch, as you state it yourself, I shall not deny," replied Macallan; "but I consider that to be a complaint for which you ought rather to be put _off_ the list that on it." "Ha! ha! ha! I say, Courtenay, you know what Shakespeare says, `'Tis the curse of service,' that--that--"