He watched the bo'son go up to the new hand and take him carefully by the collar.
"’Ere, you sculpin, take this pot and this brush and get down on this stage"
"What for?" asked Brogger. "I'm—I'm"
"Oh, no, you ain't," said the bo'son quickly,—"you ain't 'im by a long sight."
"It's blue paint," said Brogger weakly. "It's blue."
"Very blue," replied the bo'son drily. "And all that's white you'll paint blue."
He half-lifted Brogger on the rail, and watched him clamber down upon the stage. A strange, quiet ripple of laughter ran along the men at work.
"I—I don't understand," said Brogger to Eales, who was sitting on the stage with him.
"It's a good sea compliment to them that's gone," said Eales. "Paint, you beggar, paint."
The bo'son put his head over the rail.
"If you don't get to work. Juggins, I'll have to come down there and talk with you."
And the man who was spoken to knew of old what a terror the bo'son could be if he liked. He shivered and dipped his brush in paint.
