PEW. Why, that’s so! And why, says you? Why, when I dropped in and paid my respecks this morning, do you think she knew me? No more’n a babe unborn! Why, ma’am, when I promised and vowed for her, I was the picter of a man-o’-war’s man, I was: eye like a eagle; walked the deck in a hornpipe, foot up and foot down; v’ice as mellow as rum; ’and upon ’art, and all the females took dead aback at the first sight, Lord bless ’em! Know me? Not likely. And as for me, when I found her such a lovely woman—by the feel of her ’and and arm!—you might have knocked me down with a feather. But here’s where it is, you see: when you’ve been knocking about on blue water for a matter of two-and-forty year, shipwrecked here, and blown up there, and everywhere out of luck, and given over for dead by all your messmates and relations, why, what it amounts to is this: nobody knows you, and you hardly know yourself, and there you are; and I’ll trouble you for another noggin of rum. MRS. DRAKE. I think you’ve had enough. PEW. I don’t; so bear a hand. (_Exit_ MRS. DRAKE; PEW _empties the glass_.) Rum, ah, rum, you’re a lovely creature; they haven’t never done you justice. (_Proceeds to fill and light pipe_; _re-enter_ MRS. DRAKE _with rum_.)] And now, ma’am, since you’re so genteel and amicable-like, what about my old commander? Is he, in a manner of speaking, on half pay? or is he living on his fortune, like a gentleman slaver ought? MRS. DRAKE. Well, sailor, people talk, you know. PEW. I know, ma’am; I’d have been rolling in my coach, if they’d have held their tongues. MRS. DRAKE. And they do say that Captain Gaunt, for so pious a man, is little better than a miser. PEW. Don’t say it, ma’am; not to old Pew. Ah, how often have I up and strove with him! ‘Cap’n, live it down,’ says I. ‘Ah, Pew,’ says he, ‘you’re a better man than I am,’ he says; ‘but dammne,’ he says, ‘money,’ he says, ‘is like rum to me.’ (_Insinuating_.) And what about a old sea-chest, hey? a old sea-chest, strapped with brass bands? MRS. DRAKE. Why, that’ll be the chest in his parlour, where he has it bolted to the wall, as I’ve seen with my own eyes; and so might you, if you had eyes to see with. PEW. No, ma’am, that ain’t good enough; you don’t bam old Pew. You never was in that parlour in your life. MRS. DRAKE. I never was? Well, I declare! PEW. Well then, if you was, where’s the chest? Beside the chimbley, hey? (_Winking_.) Beside the table with the ’oly Bible? MRS. DRAKE. No, sailor, you don’t get any information out of me. PEW. What, ma’am? Not to old Pew? Why, my god-child showed it me herself, and I told her where she’d find my name—P, E, W, Pew—cut out on the starn of it; and sure enough she did. Why, ma’am, it was his old money-box when he was in the Guinea trade; and they do say he keeps the rhino in it still. MRS. DRAKE. No, sailor, nothing out of me! And if you want to know, you can ask the Admiral himself! (_She crosses_, _L._)