PEW (_picking himself up_). Ah, she’s a bouncer, she is! Where’s my stick? That’s the sort of female for David Pew. Didn’t she fight? and didn’t she struggle? and shouldn’t I like to twist her lovely neck for her? Pew’s way with ’em all: the prettier they was, the uglier he were to ’em. Pew’s way: a way he had with him; and a damned good way too. (_Listens at L. door_.) That’s her bedroom, I reckon; and she’s double-locked herself in. Good again: it’s a crying mercy the Admiral didn’t come in. But you always loses your ’ed, Pew, with a female: that’s what charms ’em. Now for business. The front door. No bar; only a big lock (_trying keys from his pocket_). Key one; no go. Key two; no go. Key three; ah, that does it. Ah! (_feeling key_) him with the three wards and the little ’un: good again! Now if I could only find a mate in this rotten country ’amlick: one to be eyes to me; I can steer, but I can’t conn myself, worse luck! If I could only find a mate! And to-night, about three bells in the middle watch, old Pew will take a little cruise, and lay aboard his ancient friend the Admiral; or, barring that, the Admiral’s old sea-chest—the chest he kept the shiners in aboard the brig. Where is it, I wonder? in his berth, or in the cabin here? It’s big enough, and the brass bands is plain to feel by. (_Searching about with stick_.) Dresser—chair—(_knocking his head on the cupboard_.) Ah!—O, corner cupboard. Admiral’s chair—Admiral’s table—Admiral’s—hey! what’s this?—a book—sheepskin—smells like a ’oly Bible. Chair (_his stick just avoids the chest_). No sea-chest. I must have a mate to see for me, to see for old Pew: him as had eyes like a eagle! Meanwhile, rum. Corner cupboard, of course (_tap-tapping_). Rum—rum—rum. Hey? (_He listens_.) Footsteps. Is it the Admiral? (_With the whine_.) Kind Christian friends— SCENE VIII PEW; to him GAUNT GAUNT. What brings you here? PEW. Cap’n, do my ears deceive me? or is this my old commander? GAUNT. My name is John Gaunt. Who are you, my man, and what’s your business? PEW. Here’s the facks, so help me. A lovely female in this house was Christian enough to pity the poor blind; and lo and belold! who should she turn out to be but my old commander’s daughter! ‘My dear,’ says I to her, ‘I was the Admiral’s own particular bo’sun.’—‘La, sailor,’ she says to me, ‘how glad he’ll be to see you!’—‘Ah,’ says I, ‘won’t he just—that’s all.’—‘I’ll go and fetch him,’ she says; ‘you make yourself at ’ome.’ And off she went; and, Commander, here I am. GAUNT (_sitting down_). Well? PEW. Well, Cap’n? GAUNT. What do you want? PEW. Well, Admiral, in a general way, what I want in a manner of speaking is money and rum. (_A pause_.) GAUNT. David Pew, I have known you a long time.