"
"Excep' for what we gave him in the steerin'-flat when we came out o'
cells. 'Eard anything of 'im lately, Pye?"
"Signal Boatswain in the Channel Fleet, I believe--Mr. L.L. Niven is."
"An' Anstey died o' fever in Benin," Pritchard mused. "What come to Moon?
Spit-Kid we know about."
"Moon--Moon! Now where did I last...? Oh yes, when I was in the
_Palladium_! I met Quigley at Buncrana Station. He told me Moon 'ad run
when the _Astrild_ sloop was cruising among the South Seas three years
back. He always showed signs o' bein' a Mormonastic beggar. Yes, he
slipped off quietly an' they 'adn't time to chase 'im round the islands
even if the navigatin' officer 'ad been equal to the job."
"Wasn't he?" said Hooper.
"Not so. Accordin' to Quigley the _Astrild_ spent half her commission
rompin' up the beach like a she-turtle, an' the other half hatching
turtles' eggs on the top o' numerous reefs. When she was docked at Sydney
her copper looked like Aunt Maria's washing on the line--an' her 'midship
frames was sprung. The commander swore the dockyard 'ad done it haulin'
the pore thing on to the slips. They _do_ do strange things at sea, Mr.
Hooper."
"Ah! I'm not a tax-payer," said Hooper, and opened a fresh bottle. The
Sergeant seemed to be one who had a difficulty in dropping subjects.
"How it all comes back, don't it?" he said. "Why Moon must 'ave 'ad
sixteen years' service before he ran.
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