Chapter 90

PEW (_picking himself up_). Ah, she’s a bouncer, she is! Where’s my stick? That’s the sort of female for David Pew. Didn’t she fight? and didn’t she struggle? and shouldn’t I like to twist her lovely neck for her? Pew’s way with ’em all: the prettier they was, the uglier he were to ’em. Pew’s way: a way he had with him; and a damned good way too. (_Listens at L. door_.) That’s her bedroom, I reckon; and she’s double-locked herself in. Good again: it’s a crying mercy the Admiral didn’t come in. But you always loses your ’ed, Pew, with a female: that’s what charms ’em. Now for business. The front door. No bar; only a big lock (_trying keys from his pocket_). Key one; no go. Key two; no go. Key three; ah, that does it. Ah! (_feeling key_) him with the three wards and the little ’un: good again! Now if I could only find a mate in this rotten country ’amlick: one to be eyes to me; I can steer, but I can’t conn myself, worse luck! If I could only find a mate! And to-night, about three bells in the middle watch, old Pew will take a little cruise, and lay aboard his ancient friend the Admiral; or, barring that, the Admiral’s old sea-chest—the chest he kept the shiners in aboard the brig. Where is it, I wonder? in his berth, or in the cabin here? It’s big enough, and the brass bands is plain to feel by. (_Searching about with stick_.) Dresser—chair—(_knocking his head on the cupboard_.) Ah!—O, corner cupboard. Admiral’s chair—Admiral’s table—Admiral’s—hey! what’s this?—a book—sheepskin—smells like a ’oly Bible. Chair (_his stick just avoids the chest_). No sea-chest. I must have a mate to see for me, to see for old Pew: him as had eyes like a eagle! Meanwhile, rum. Corner cupboard, of course (_tap-tapping_). Rum—rum—rum. Hey? (_He listens_.) Footsteps. Is it the Admiral? (_With the whine_.) Kind Christian friends—