by a dead man," he repeated, "for dead men, of dead men, and
there's for ye!"

"I like your song less and less!"

"You've a cursed queasy stomach I think!" he hiccupped.

"And an empty one!" says I.

"'Tis a song well bethought on by--by better men nor you, for all
your size!" says he, glancing at me over his bottle with a
truculent eye, and though his glance was steady, I perceived the
drink was affecting him more and more. "Aye, many a better man!"
he nodded, frowning.

"As who?" I questioned.

"First, there's Abnegation Mings as you shall hear tell of on the
Main from Panama to St. Catherine's, aye, by the horns of Nick
there be none of all the coastwise Brotherhood quicker or readier
when there's aught i' the wind than Abnegation, and you can lay
to that, my delicate cove!"

"And who's he?"

"Myself!" Here he took another draught and nodded at me in
drunken solemnity. "And look'ee, my dainty cull, when you've
seen as much o' death as Abnegation Mings you'll know as Death's
none so bad a thing, so long as it leaves you alone. And I for
one say 'tis a good song and there's for ye!"