KIT. David Pew, I don’t know who you are, David Pew; I never heard of you; I don’t seem able to clearly see you. Mrs. Drake, she’s a smart old woman, Pew, and she says you’ve the devil in your face. PEW. Ah, and why, says you? Because I up and put her in her place, when she forgot herself to you, Commander. KIT. Well, Pew, that’s so; you stood by me like a man. Shake hands, Pew; and we’ll make a night of it, or we’ll know why, old boy! PEW. That’s my way. That’s Pew’s way, that is. That’s Pew’s way all over. Commander, excuse the liberty; but when I was your age, making allowance for a lowlier station and less ’ed for argyment, I was as like you as two peas. I know it by the v’ice (_sings_)— ‘We hadn’t been three days at sea before we saw a sail, So we clapped on every stitch would stand, although it blew a gale, And we walked along full fourteen knots, for the barkie she did know As well as ever a soul on board, ’twas time for us to go.’ Chorus, Cap’n! PEW _and_ KIT (_in chorus_)— ‘Time for us to go, Time for us to go, As well as ever a soul on board, ’Twas time for us to go.’ PEW (_sings_)— ‘We carried away the royal yard, and the stunsail boom was gone; Says the skipper, “They may go or stand, I’m damned if I don’t crack on;” So the weather braces we’ll round in, and the trysail set also, And we’ll keep the brig three p’ints away, for it’s time for us to go. Give it mouth, Commander! PEW _and_ KIT (_in chorus_)— ‘Time for us to go, Time for us to go, And we’ll keep the brig three p’ints away, For it’s time for us to go.’ PEW. I ain’t sung like that since I sang to Admiral ’Awke, the night before I lost my eyes, I ain’t. ‘Sink me!’ says he, says Admiral ’Awke, my old commander (_touching his hat_), ‘sink me!’ he says, ‘if that ain’t ’art-of-oak,’ he says: ‘’art-of-oak,’ says he, ‘and a pipe like a bloody blackbird!’ Commander, here’s my respecks, and the devil fly away with Admiral Guinea! KIT. I say, Pew, how’s this? How do you know about Admiral Guinea? I say, Pew, I begin to think you know too much. PEW. I ax your pardon; but as a man with a ’ed for argyment—and that’s your best p’int o’ sailing, Commander; intelleck is your best p’int—as a man with a ’ed for argyment, how do I make it out? KIT. Aha, you’re a sly dog, you’re a deep dog, Pew; but you can’t get the weather of Kit French. How do I make it out? I’ll tell you. I make it out like this: Your name’s Pew, ain’t it? Very well. And you know Admiral Guinea, and that’s his name, eh? Very well. Then you’re Pew; and the Admiral’s the Admiral; and you know the Admiral; and by George, that’s all. Hey? Drink about, boys, drink about!