EVER speak to a woman before twelve o'clock, noon. Follow that rule, Jimmy, my lad," said Riley Hardin, "and you'll avoid trouble with the sex. By twelve their blood gets to circulatin’ properly and they forget to be peevish."
"Ho, yus," replied Jimmy. "That’s a fine hold bit hof a rule, that his. You ’as your dooties on deck, an’ w’en you ain’t got none you can pretend you ’as, an’ she none the wiser. But w’ot price me? My job’s below an’ she knows hit, an’ fair chivvies me hall hover the place till Hi’m barmy. Hi’m sick of hit, Hi tell yer. W’ot did she come haboard for hanyway, that’s w’ot Hi’d like to know? W’ot hif she his the skipper’s missis. Hi’ve got shares hin the ship myself."
"She came aboard, Jimmy, my son," replied the first mate," because she preferred the Margaret Ann to jail."
"She’ll turn the ship hinter a bloomin’ loonatic asylum hif she keeps hit hup this w’y, wiv me has chief patient. W’ot was she goin’ to get hin jail for? Wimmen’s wrongs what they wants made wimmens’ rights, I suppose?"
"Well, Jimmy, you know she’s had the sufferaging bug bad for a year. She’s what we call back in the States a limelighter. Wants to stand in the spot all the time and thinks she’s a natural-born leader."
"Hi know hall that. W’ot appened to get the coppers hafter ’er."
"You were out of town, Jimmy. It was a week before we sailed"
"W’ot did she do? ’Eave ’arf a brick hat a bobby?"
"First," said Hardin, "her limelightin’ got her to start a subscription to place a marble monument above the grave of an English sufferagette that had tried to blow up all the poets’ and dooks’ and warriors’ tombs in Westminster Abbey, but had miscalculated the length of the fuse. That fell flat, owin’ to the lady who was fightin’ her for the leadership of the Sydney Sufferagettes being a sixteenth cousin of the nephew of Nelson, or Byron or some one.
"So then some of ’em got into the gallery at the mayor’s banquet and threw a lot of cheap eggs while the soup was being served. One egg was a chiny one and hit the mayor on the bean, so that his bald head looked as if it was tryin’ to raise eggs on it’s own account. The skipper got the tip that the police knew who chucked it, so we smuggled Mrs. B. aboard and telegraphed you, and the next day we sailed,
"I told the skipper they couldn’t prove it on her, because she couldn’t possible have aimed it at the mayor and hit him too, but he didn’t see the joke."
"Well, Hi’m goin’ to tell ’im something hon my hown ’ook. Blowed hif she don’t think Hi’m some sort of stooard. Started harrangin’ my trade-room shelves. Told me Hi ’adn’t got no tyste in dress goods, Me! W’ot ’ave hintrodooced more ’its hin percales hand muslins than hany supercargo hin the South Seas! Said Hi hought to ’ave stocked hup wiv calico wiv lilock sprigs hon hit. Lilock sprigs, for Tamatau’s fahines!"
"Make allowances, Jimmy. She can’t help it. She’s a bit of a freak, you know. Most of these sufferagettes are, I reckon. Crowin’ hens, I call ’em."
"Crowin’ ’ens? She’s a bloomin’ cuckoo, that’s w’ot she his. Crowdin’ ’erself hin w’ere she don’t belong hand hain’t wanted, hand tryin’ to shove me hout hof my hown trade-room. Came hin this hafternoon w’en Hi was workin’, hand flounced hout becoz Hi was peeled to my hundershirt hand pants. Told the skipper Hi was hindecent, she did. Honly peace Hi ’ave, his w’en she’s seasick and, thank Gawd, she turns yeller hevery time the cabin lamp swings hin the gimbals."
"Maybe she’ll work it out of her system that way," opined Hardin. "It’s largely a matter of bile, to my way of thinkin’."
"Hif hit honly was," said Jimmy, "you could cure h’em heasy. Put h’em hall haboard a rollin’ little steamer and send h’em hout hin the Channel somew’eres w’ere hit’s nice and choppy. That ’ud beat hall the ’unger strikes. Wouldn’t ’ave to feed h’em hat hall."
"What about the ones who wasn’t seasick?"
"Make h’em wait hon the rest. They’d ’ave to, hout hof ’umanity. ’Old their ’eads and rush the bowls. Ho! Hi’d cure h’em."
"Well, if it gives you any comfort," said the mate, "the glass is down to thirty, and pumpin’ at that. There’s somethin’ comin’ our way, and soon. That’s why it’e so hot."
"Hit his warm," agreed Jimmy, mopping his brow. "H’ill tell Talua to put hon the racks hat supper. She starts feelin’ sick the minnit she sees h’em hon the table. ’Ullo, ’ere’s the skipper."
"Jimmy," said Captain Boyle, coming aft and speaking a little wearily, "Mrs. Boyle isn’t feeling very well. I wish you’d fix her up a little toddy. She thinks it’ll make her feel better."