"Come, come, you're not quite yourself this morning, Miggs. We value
you as a dashing, fearless fellow--let me fill your glass again--who
doesn't fear a little risk where there's something to be gained.
You'll lose your good name if you go on like that."

"She's in a terrible bad way," the captain insisted. "You'll have to do
something before she can go."

"What shall we have to do?"

"Dry dock her and give her a thorough overhaul. She might sink before
she got out o' the Channel if she went as she is just now."

"Very well," the merchant said coldly. "If you insist on it, it must be
done. But, of course, it would make a great difference in your salary."

"Eh?"

"You are at present getting fifteen pounds a month, and five per cent.
commission. These are exceptional terms in consideration of any risk
that you may run. We shall dry dock the _Black Eagle_, and your salary
is now ten pounds a month and two and a half commission."

"Belay, there, belay!" the sailor shouted. His coppery face was a shade
darker than usual, and his bilious eyes had a venomous gleam in them.
"Don't you beat me down, curse you!" he hissed, advancing to the table
and leaning his hands upon it while he pushed his angry face forward
until it was within a foot of that of the merchant. "Don't you try that
game on, mate, for I am a free-born British seaman, and I am under the
thumb of no man."