es, you did!
Don't you go denyin' of it. You'll kill us, cook,' says he, 'if you
goes on like this. They isn't nothin' worse for the system,' says he,
'than this here burned water. The almanacs,' says he, shakin' his
finger at the poor cook, ''ll tell you _that!_'

"'I 'low I did burn that water, skipper,' says the cook, 'if you says
so. But I isn't got all my wits,' says he; 'an' God knows I'm doin' my
best!'

"'I always did allow, cook,' says the skipper, 'that God knowed more'n
I ever thunk.'

"'An' I never _did_ burn no water,' says the cook, 'afore I shipped
along o' you in this here ol' flour-sieve of a _Quick as Wink._'

"'This here _what?_' snaps the skipper.

"'This here ol' basket,' says the cook.

"'Basket!' says the skipper. Then he hummed a bit o' 'Fishin' for the
Maid I Loves,' 'ithout thinkin' much about the toon. 'Cook,' says he
'I loves you. You is on'y a half-witted chance-child,' says he, 'but
I loves you like a brother.'

"'Does you, skipper?' says the cook, with a nice, soft little smile,
like the poor fool he was. 'I isn't by no means hatin' you, skipper,'
says he. 'But I can't _help_ burnin' the water,' says he, 'an' I 'low
it fair hurts me t' get blame for it. I'm sorry for you an' the crew,'
says he, 'an' I wisht I hadn't took the berth. But when I shipped
along o' you,' says he, 'I 'lowed I _could_ cook, for mother always
told me so, an' I 'lowed she knowed. I'm doin' my best, anyhow,
accordin' t' how she'd have me do, an' I 'low if the water gets
scarched,' says he, 'the galley fire's bewitched.'

"'Basket!' says the skipper. 'Ay, ay, cook,' says he. 'I just _loves_
you.'

"They wasn't a man o' the crew liked t' hear the skipper say that;
for, look you! the skipper doesn't know nothin' about feelin's, an'
the cook has more feelin's 'n a fool can make handy use of aboard a
tradin' craft. There sits the ol' man, smoothin' his big, red beard,
singin' 'I'm Fishin' for the Maid I Loves,' while he looks at poor
Moses Shoos, which was washin' up the dishes, for we was through with
the mug-up. An' the devil was in his eyes--the devil was fair grinnin'
in them little blue eyes. Lord! it made me sad t' see it, for I knowed
the cook was in for bad weather, an' he isn't no sort o' craft t' be
out o' harbor in a gale o' wind like that.

"'Cook,' says the skipper.

"'Ay, sir?' says the cook.

"'Cook,' says the skipper, 'you ought t' get married.'

"'I on'y wisht I could,' says the cook.