"Where?" ses the skipper, a'most jumping.

I 'eld my breath. Five sailormen out of ten have been tattooed with
mermaids, and I was one of 'em. When she spoke agin I thought I should
ha' dropped.

"On 'is right arm," she ses, "unless he's 'ad it rubbed off."

"You can't rub out tattoo marks," ses the skipper.

They all stood looking at me as if they was waiting for something. I
folded my arms--tight--and stared back at 'em.

"If you ain't this lady's 'usband," ses the skipper, turning to me, "you
can take off your coat and prove it."

"And if you don't we'll take it off for you," ses the carman, coming a
bit closer.

Arter that things 'appened so quick, I hardly knew whether I was standing
on my 'cad or my heels. Both, I think. They was all on top o' me at
once, and the next thing I can remember is sitting on the ground in my
shirt-sleeves listening to the potman, who was making a fearful fuss
because somebody 'ad bit his ear 'arf off. My coat was ripped up the
back, and one of the draymen was holding up my arm and showing them all
the mermaid, while the other struck matches so as they could see better."

"That's your 'usband right enough," he ses to the woman. "Take 'im."