"Faith, he's all right," blurted out Chips; "his skin is a little off th'
color av roses, but his heart is white. We're wid ye, see?"

"With me for what?" I asked.

"Anything," he replied. "To go back, to go ahead. There's a fellow
forrads who says go back while ye may."

"An' it's bloody good advice," said the steward, in a low tone.

"I'm not exactly in command aboard here," I said.

"D'ye know who is?" asked Chips.

"His name is Thompson, I believe," I answered coldly, for I did not
approve of this sudden criticism of the skipper, much as I disliked
his style.

"See here, mate, ye needn't think we're fer sayin' agin the old man, so
hark ye, don't take it hard like. Did ye iver hear tell av a sailorman
a-callin' a line a 'rope' or a bloomin' hooker like this a 'boat'? No,
sir, ye can lay to it he's niver had a ship before; an' so says Jim
Potts, the same as passed th' line fer ye this mornin'. Kin I pass ye the
junk? It's sort o' snifty fer new slush, but I don't complain."

"What's the matter with the meat?" I asked, glad to change the
conversation.

"Jest sort o' snifty."