The
little gold watch, Pye, with the blue monogram at the back. But, as I was
sayin', in those days she kep' a beer that agreed with me--Slits it was
called. One way an' another I must 'ave punished a good few bottles of it
while we was in the bay--comin' ashore every night or so. Chaffin across
the bar like, once when we were alone, 'Mrs. B.,' I said, 'when next I
call I want you to remember that this is my particular--just as you're my
particular?' (She'd let you go _that_ far!) 'Just as you're my
particular,' I said. 'Oh, thank you, Sergeant Pritchard,' she says, an'
put 'er hand up to the curl be'ind 'er ear. Remember that way she had,
Pye?"
"I think so," said the sailor.
"Yes, 'Thank you, Sergeant Pritchard,' she says. 'The least I can do is to
mark it for you in case you change your mind. There's no great demand for
it in the Fleet,' she says, 'but to make sure I'll put it at the back o'
the shelf,' an' she snipped off a piece of her hair ribbon with that old
dolphin cigar cutter on the bar--remember it, Pye?--an' she tied a bow
round what was left--just four bottles. That was '97--no, '96. In '98 I
was in the _Resiliant_--China station--full commission. In Nineteen One,
mark you, I was in the _Carthusian_, back in Auckland Bay again. Of course
I went up to Mrs. B.'s with the rest of us to see how things were goin'.
They were the same as ever. (Remember the big tree on the pavement by the
side-bar, Pye?) I never said anythin' in special (there was too many of us
talkin' to her), but she saw me at once.
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