was saying as I came in.

Hans affirmed, with many oaths, that he'd let the "bloody hancor go
bloomin' well to the bottom before he'd fool wid it." This made the bos'n
angry, and he opened with a fierce harangue, accompanied by a description
of the necessary manoeuvres. He also made some remarks relating to the
quartermaster's knowledge of things nautical.

I took occasion to look about the little room while this was going on and
my fingers warmed up some. I then seated myself on a corner of the chest
near Chips to make myself easy, during which time the bos'n had gained
sufficient ground to enforce silence upon his adversary, and relinquish
the subject of anchors. Then came a pause during which I could
distinguish the "doctor's" voice above the mutterings, and get a whiff of
my own tobacco out of the haze.

"--five fat roaches; they'll cure you every time," he was saying to
Chips. "It's old man Green's sure remedy, sah, yes, sah. I hearn him tole
his ole mate, Mr. Gantline, when he sailed in the West Coast trade."

"Faith, ye may stave me, shipmate, but that would be an all-fired tough
dish to swallow," the carpenter declared, with a wry face. "Supposen
they didn't die? They would make a most eternal disagreeable cargo
shiftin' about amongst your ribs. May the devil grab me, ye moke, if I
wouldn't rather swell up an' bust wid th' scurvy than swallow them
fellows kickin'."

"Bile 'em, white man," said the cook. "Bile 'em in er pint er water--an'
then fling 'em overboard. Who the debble would eat er roach?"

"Right ye are, shipmate," assented Chips; "'tis an aisy enough dose to
take if all ye do is to throw th' critters to lor'ard. Sink me, though,
if I sees th' benefit av a medicine ye fling to David Jones instead av
placin' it to th' credit av yer own innerds."

"Yah, yah, Mr. Chips, but you beats me. Yes, sah, you beats me, but yer
haid is thick. Yes, sah, yer haid is thick ernuff, yah, yah," laughed the
"doctor." "What would yer do but drink the water, white man? yes, sah,
drink the water for the acid in the critter. It's salt in yer blood makes
scurvy, from libbin' so long er eatin' nuffin' but salt junk. Lime juice
is good, ef the ole man gives it to yer straight, but he nebber does. No,
sah, dat he nebber do. It's too expensive. Anyways, it doan' hab no
strength like er roach, ner no sech freshness, which am de main pint
after all."

Seeing himself out of the talk, and having completely growled down the
q