In a pause of the business we heard the master and the
clerk talking. We caught: "James Wait--deceased--found no papers of
any kind--no relations--no trace--the Office must hold his wages then."
Donkin entered. He seemed out of breath, was grave, full of business.
He went straight to the desk, talked with animation to the clerk, who
thought him an intelligent man. They discussed the account, dropping h's
against one another as if for a wager--very friendly. Captain Allistoun
paid. "I give you a bad discharge," he said, quietly. Donkin raised his
voice:--"I don't want your bloomin' discharge--keep it. I'm goin' ter
'ave a job ashore." He turned to us. "No more bloomin' sea fur me," he
said, aloud. All looked at him. He had better clothes, had an easy air,
appeared more at home than any of us; he stared with assurance, enjoying
the effect of his declaration. "Yuss. I 'ave friends well off. That's
more'n you got. But I am a man. Yer shipmates for all that. Who's comin
fur a drink?"
No one moved. There was a silence; a silence of blank faces and stony
looks. He waited a moment, smiled bitterly, and went to the door. There
he faced round once more.
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