No; she wasn't handsome, she didn't have no good looks; but once you got
a look into whichever one o' them cross-eyes you was able to cotch, you
seen a deal more'n your own face; an' she _was_ well-muscled, an' I 'low
I'm goin' t' tell you so, for I wants t' name her good p'ints so well as
her bad. Whatever--

"'Cook,' says I, 'I'll go along o' you.'

"With that the cook fell to on the dishes, an' 'twasn't long afore he
was ready to clean hisself; which done, he was ready for the courtin'.
But first he got out his dunny-bag, an' he fished in there 'til he
pulled out a blue stockin', tied in a hard knot; an' from the toe o'
that there blue stockin' he took a brass ring. 'I 'low,' says he,
talkin' to hisself, in the half-witted way he had, 'it won't do no hurt
t' give her mother's ring.' Then he begun t' cry. "Moses," says mother,
"you better take the ring off my finger. It isn't no weddin'-ring," says
she, "for I never was what you might call wed," says she, "but I got it
from the Jew t' make believe I was; for it didn't do nobody no hurt, an'
it sort o' pleased me. You better take it, Moses, b'y," says she, "for
the dirt o' the grave would only spile it," says she, "an' I'm not
wantin' it no more. Don't wear it at the fishin', dear," says she, "for
the fishin' is wonderful hard," says she, "an' joolery don't stand much
wear an' tear." 'Oh, mother!' says the cook, 'I done what you wanted!'
Then the poor fool sighed an' looked up at the skipper. 'I 'low,
skipper,' says he, ''t wouldn't do no hurt t' give the ring to a man's
wife, would it? For mother wouldn't mind, would she?'

"The skipper didn't answer that.

"'Come, cook,' says I, 'leave us get under way,' for I couldn't stand it