ever said _yaw_
f'r yes? An' yer _Ruddy-mantus_, o' London? I knows yer
_Ruddy-bloomin-mantus_, o' London! Never 'ad a sailorman acrost 'er
fo'cas'le door! Men wot knowed their work wouldn't sail in 'er,
anyhow, an' w'en she tided out at Gravesen', all th' stiffs out o' th'
'ard-up boardin'-'ouses wos windin' 'er bloomin' keeleg up!
_Ruddymantus_? 'Er wot 'ad a bow like the side o' 'n 'ouse--comin' up
th' Mersey Channel a-shovin' th' sea afore 'er, an' makin' 'igh water
at Liverpool two hours afore th' Halmanack! That's yer _Ruddy-mantus_!
An' wot th' 'ell d'you know 'bout sailorizin', anywye? Yer never wos
in a proper ship till ye come 'ere, on a dead 'un's discharge, an' ye
couldn't put dimon' 'itchin' on a broom 'andle, if it wos t' get ye a
pension!"

Here was a break to our peaceful Sunday afternoon; nothing short of a
round or two could set matters fair after such an insult to a man's
last ship!

Someone tried to pacify the indignant bo'sun.

"'Ere, bo'sun! Wot's about it if 'e did know a blanky Dutchman wot
made shackles? Them o' yourn's good enough. I don't see nuthin' th'
matter wi' them!"

"No--no! A-course ye don't, 'cos ye'r like that b----y Granger there,
ye knows damn all 'bout sailorizin' anywye! Didn't ye 'ear 'im say as
I couldn't make shackles?"

A chorus of denials, a babel of confused explanation.

"A-course 'e did," shouted the maker of shackles. "'E sed as I didn't
know 'ow t' work round sennit an' dimon' 'itchin', as I wos never in a
proper ship afore, as 'e knowed a bloomin' Dutchman wot could make
better shackles nor me; sed as 'ow my shackles worn't fit f'r a
grip----"

"'Ere! 'Ere!! bo'sun--I never sed nuthin' ov th' kind!" The
unfortunate Granger was bowing to the blast. "Wot I sed wos, 'ow them
was good shackles; as fine a shackles as ever I see--an' I wos only
tellin' my mates 'ere 'bout a Dutchman wot was in th' _Ruddymanthus_
along o' me as could make 'em as smooth to the 'and----"

"An' wot's the matter wi' them?" Hicks picked up the discarded shackle
and threw it at Granger, striking him smartly on the chest. "Ain't
them smooth enough for yer lubberly 'an's, ye long-eared son of a----"

"_Fore-tops'l sheet, the watch there!!_"

The Mate had seen the slack links and the row in progress at the same
moment. The order came in time; strife was averted.

Three sulky pulls at a tackle on the sheets, a tightening of the
braces, then: "That'll do, the watch the