's light the candles and draw the
curtain!_

PATCH: Darlin'! Darlin'! (_He lolls back in his chair and stretches
out his legs for comfort._) Darlin'!

(_At this a dirty old woman with one tooth appears from the kitchen.
She is called Darlin' just for fun, as she is not at all kissable. A
sprig of mistletoe, even in the Christmas season, would beckon
vainly._)

PATCH: Me friend, the Duke, is thirsty. Will yer fill the cups? Hurry,
ol' dear! And squeeze in jest a bit o' lemon. It sets the stomich.

DARLIN': Yer sets yer stomich like it were hen's eggs. Alers coddlin'
it.

(_She stirs and tastes the pot of grog, and hoists her wrinkled
stockings._)

DUKE: There 's no one like Darlin' fer mixin' grog.

DARLIN': Fer that kind word I 'm lovin' yer. (_She looks at him with
admiration._) Ain 't he a figger o' a man? Wenus was nothin'. Jest
nothin' at all.

PATCH: It 's grog beats off the melancholy. As soon as me pipes go
dry, I gets homesick fer the ocean. Here we be, Duke, thrown up at
last ter rot like driftwood on the shore. No more sailin' off to
Trinidad! No tackin' 'round the Hebrides! We is ships as has sprung a
leak. It was 'appy days when we sailed with ol' Flint on the Spanish
Main.

DUKE: 'Appy days, Patch! (_They drink._)

PATCH: Aye! The blessed, dear, ol' roarin' hulk. No better pirate ever
lived than Flint. Smart with his cutlass. Quick at the trigger. Grog!
A sloppin' pail o' it was jest a sip.

DUKE: I used ter tell him that his leg was holler.

PATCH: He was a vat, was Flint--jest a swishin' keg.

DUKE: Grog jest sizzled and disappeared, like when yer drops it on a
red-hot seacoal.

PATCH: Fer twenty year and more me and you has seen ol' Flint march
his wictims off the plank.

DUKE: "Step lively!" he 'd say. "Does n't yer hear Davy callin' to
yer?" There was never a sailorman ever sat in the Port Light at
Wappin' wharf which could drink with Flint.

[Illustration: "Port Light" at Wappin' Wharf]

PATCH: Wappin' wharf and gibbets is nothin' ter talk about. Funerals
even is cheerfuller.

DUKE: There 's his parrot.

PATCH: She used ter cuss soft and gentle to herself--'appy all the
day. She ain 't spoke since Flint was took. Peckin' at yer finger and
broodin'.

DUKE: There 's his ol' clock.

PATCH: As hung in the cabin o' the Spittin' Devil.

DUKE: With the pendulum gettin' tangled in a storm. A 'ell of a clock
fer a bouncin' ship.

[Illustration: "A 'ell of a clock fer a bouncin