They could be heard
tramping aft while they repeated with varied intonations:--"Spanker
out!"... "Out spanker, sir!" Donkin remained alone with Jimmy. There was
a silence. Jimmy opened and shut his lips several times as if swallowing
draughts of fresher air; Donkin moved the toes of his bare feet and
looked at them thoughtfully.
"Ain't you going to give them a hand with the sail?" asked Jimmy.
"No. If six ov 'em ain't 'nough beef to set that blamed, rotten spanker,
they ain't fit to live," answered Donkin in a bored, far-away voice, as
though he had been talking from the bottom of a hole. Jimmy considered
the conical, fowl-like profile with a queer kind of interest; he was
leaning out of his bunk with the calculating, uncertain expression of
a man who reflects how best to lay hold of some strange creature that
looks as though it could sting or bite. But he said only:--"The mate
will miss you--and there will be ructions."
Donkin got up to go. "I will do for 'im some dark night; see if I
don't," he said over his shoulder.
Jimmy went on quickly:--"You're like a poll-parrot, like a screechin'
poll-parrot." Donkin stopped and cocked his head attentively on one
side.
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