"If I did d'you suppose I'd talk about it?" Hooper retorted angrily.
"You seemed so very interested," said Pritchard with equal crispness.
"Why was he called Click?" I asked to tide over an uneasy little break in
the conversation. The two men were staring at each other very fixedly.
"Because of an ammunition hoist carryin' away," said Pyecroft. "And it
carried away four of 'is teeth--on the lower port side, wasn't it, Pritch?
The substitutes which he bought weren't screwed home in a manner o'
sayin'. When he talked fast they used to lift a little on the bed plate.
'Ence, 'Click.' They called 'im a superior man which is what we'd call a
long, black-'aired, genteely speakin', 'alf-bred beggar on the lower
deck."
"Four false teeth on the lower left jaw," said Hooper, his hand in his
waistcoat pocket. "What tattoo marks?"
"Look here," began Pritchard, half rising. "I'm sure we're very grateful
to you as a gentleman for your 'orspitality, but per'aps we may 'ave made
an error in--"
I looked at Pyecroft for aid, Hooper was crimsoning rapidly.
"If the fat marine now occupying the foc'sle will kindly bring 'is _status
quo_ to an anchor yet once more, we may be able to talk like gentlemen--
not to say friends," said Pyecroft. "He regards you, Mr. Hooper, as a
emissary of the Law."
"I only wish to observe that when a gentleman exhibits such a peculiar, or
I should rather say, such a _bloomin'_ curiosity in identification marks
as our friend here----"
"Mr.
Pages:
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332