BRINGING MR. TOWNSEND BACK AGAIN. 61 



"Taownsend," the old sea-dog continued, "I 

 don't much blame you for coming, but by the 

 bloody wars you're a fool if you desert. We've 

 had blasted poor luck, I know, blasted poor. And 

 I know, too, we've all got to lose by it, every Jack 

 Tar of us, all the way from the old man on the 

 quarter-deck down to Charlie Robbins in the cabin. 

 Some ways I'd rather be to sea in a merchantman 

 and git reg'lar wages 'stid o' goin' by lays. But I 

 tell you, Taownsend, you're a blarsted ninny if 

 you try to get aout o' this butter-box. First 

 place, them tattoo natives'll make dunder-funk 

 o' your tender timbers 'fore you been ashore half 

 a day. Nex' place, you'll never git a lift off that 

 there island if you once git on it — you'll just be 

 a low-daown beach comber all the rest o' your 

 natchral days. Third place, the old man'll git the 

 darbies on you 'n less 'n a week an' then you'll be 

 back aboard o' here an' wishin' you was plumb 



dead." 



A very determined look glaring out of the 

 old blubber hunter's sharp eyes showed that he 

 thought his logic invincible. 



One fact, however, he had wholly overlooked. 

 Townsend was in debt to the old man. He had 

 shipped for a long lay and had a thumping big 

 bill for outfitting and board before we sailed from 



