Морський вовк

Chapter 2

           ThemanaddressedasYonson,amanoftheheavyScandinaviantype,ceasedchafingme,andaroseawkwardlytohisfeet.ThemanwhohadspokentohimwasclearlyaCockney,withthecleanlinesandweaklypretty,almosteffeminate,faceofthemanwhohasabsorbedthesoundofBowBellswithhismother’smilk.Adraggledmuslincaponhisheadandadirtygunny-sackabouthisslimhipsproclaimedhimcookofthedecidedlydirtyship’sgalleyinwhichIfoundmyself.

           "An’‘owyerfeelin’now,sir?"heasked,withthesubservientsmirkwhichcomesonlyofgenerationsoftip-seekingancestors.

           Forreply,Itwistedweaklyintoasittingposture,andwashelpedbyYonsontomyfeet.Therattleandbangofthefrying-panwasgratinghorriblyonmynerves.Icouldnotcollectmythoughts.ClutchingthewoodworkofthegalleyforsupportandIconfessthegreasewithwhichitwasscummedputmyteethonedgeIreachedacrossahotcooking-rangetotheoffendingutensil,unhookedit,andwedgeditsecurelyintothecoal-box.

           Thecookgrinnedatmyexhibitionofnerves,andthrustintomyhandasteamingmugwithan"‘Ere,this’lldoyergood."Itwasanauseousmessship’scoffeebuttheheatofitwasrevivifying.BetweengulpsofthemoltenstuffIglanceddownatmyrawandbleedingchestandturnedtotheScandinavian.

           "Thankyou,Mr.Yonson,"Isaid;"butdon’tyouthinkyourmeasureswereratherheroic?"

           Itwasbecauseheunderstoodthereproofofmyaction,ratherthanofmywords,thathehelduphispalmforinspection.Itwasremarkablycalloused.Ipassedmyhandoverthehornyprojections,andmyteethwentonedgeoncemorefromthehorribleraspingsensationproduced.

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