"Ay, it's a pity we're such a quiet, sober crowd," replied Eales, who on occasion was neither quiet nor sober; "but, as I showed you after our passage out 'ere, it would be money in Brogger's pocket and the owners' if we quit. And 'tis true 'e owns about three sixty-fourths of 'er 'imself. The boardin'-'ouse bosses are selling sailors at sixty dollars per 'ead. Flesh and blood are cheap to-day! I wish I could hinvent somethin' to get even with the 'old man' in this bally, rowdy, shanghain' old Portland. I'll give ten dollars to the son of a gun that gives me the least 'int of a working scheme to do it."
"D'ye mean it, Jack Eales?" asked the whole crowd.
"Don't jump down a man's throat simultaneous," said Eales indignantly, "for in course I means it. And what's more, I've got the stuff. I ain't relyin' on that blasted old devil dodger aft for no measly five bob a week. Since I took the pledge not to get drunk—real drunk, that is—more'n once a month, I can trust myself with money, and I've got it 'ere."
He kicked the chest on which he sat to show his bank.
