plays [58]
DRAKE. I don't like to risk it. I don't like your looks,
and you're more sea-lawyer than seaman to my mind. But I'll tell
you what: if you can pay, you can stay. So there.
PEW. No chink, no drink? That's your motto, is it? Well,
that's sense. Now, look here, ma'am, I ain't beautiful like you;
but I'm good, and I'll give you warrant for it. Get me a noggin
of rum, and suthin' to scoff, and a penny pipe, and a half-a-foot
of baccy; and there's a guinea for the reckoning. There's plenty
more in the locker; so bear a hand, and be smart. I don't like
waiting; it ain't my way. (EXIT MRS. DRAKE, R. PEW SITS AT THE
TABLE, R. THE SETTLE CONCEALS HIM FROM ALL THE UPPER PART OF THE
STAGE.)
MRS. DRAKE (RE-ENTERING). Here's the rum, sailor.
PEW (DRINKS). Ah, rum! That's my sheet-anchor: rum and the
blessed Gospel. Don't you forget that, ma'am: rum and the
Gospel is old Pew's sheet-anchor. You can take for another while
you're about it; and, I say, short reckonings make long friends,
hey? Where's my change?
MRS. DRAKE. I'm counting it now. There, there it is, and thank
you for your custom. (SHE GOES OUT, R.)
PEW (CALLING AFTER HER). Don't thank me, ma'am; thank the act of
parleyment! Rum, fourpence; two penny pieces and a Willi'm-and-
Mary tizzy makes a shilling; and a spade half-guinea is eleven
and six (RE-ENTER MRS. DRAKE WITH SUPPER, PIPE, ETC.); and a
blessed majesty George the First crown-piece makes sixteen and
six; and two shilling bits is eighteen and six; and a new
half-crown makes - no it don't! O, no! Old Pew's too smart a
hand to be bammed with a soft half-tusheroon.
MRS. DRAKE (CHANGING PIECE). I'm sure I didn't know it, sailor.
PEW (TRYING NEW COIN BETWEEN HIS TEETH). In course you didn't,
my dear; but I did, and I thought I'd mention it. Is that my
supper, hey? Do my nose deceive me? (SNIFFING AND FEELING.)
Cold duck? sage and onions? a round of double Gloster? and that
noggin o' rum? Why, I declare if I'd stayed and took pot-luck
with my old commander, Cap'n John Gaunt, he couldn't have beat
this little spread, as I've got by act of parleyment.
MRS. DRAKE (AT KNITTING). Do you know the captain, sailor?
PEW. Know him? I was that man's bos'un, ma'am. In the Guinea
trade, we was known as 'Pew's Cap'n,' and 'Gaunt's Bo'sun,' one
for other like. We was like two brothers, ma'am. And a
excellent cold duck, to be sure; and the rum lovely.
MRS. DRAKE. If you know John Gaunt, you know his daughter
Arethusa.
PEW. What? Arethusa? Know her, says you? know her? Why, Lord
love you, I was her god-father. ['Pew,' says Jack Gaunt to me,
'Pew,' he says, 'you're a man,' he says; 'I like a man to be a
man,' says he, 'and damme,' he says, 'I like YOU; and sink me,'
says he, 'if you don't promise and vow in the name of that
new-born babe,' he says, 'why damme, Pew,' says he, 'you're not
the man I take you for.'] Yes, ma'am, I named that female; with
my own 'ands I did; Arethusa, I named her; that was the name I
give her; so now you know if I speak true. And if you'll be as
good as get me another noggin of rum, why, we'll drink her 'elth
with three times three. (EXIT MRS. DRAKE: PEW EATING. MRS.
DRAKE RE-ENTERING WITH RUM.)
[MRS. DRAKE. If what you say be true, sailor (and I don't say it
isn't, mind!), it's strange that Arethusa and that godly man her
father have never so much as spoke your name.
PEW. Why, that's so! And why, says you? Why, when I dropped in
and paid my respecks this morning, do you think she knew me? No
more'n a babe unborn! Why, ma'am, when I promised and vowed for
her, I was the picter of a man-o'-war's man, I was: eye like a
eagle; walked the deck in a hornpipe, foot up and foot down;
v'ice as mellow as rum; 'and upon 'art, and all the females took
dead aback at the first sight, Lord bless 'em! Know me? Not
likely. And as for me, when I found her such a lovely woman - by
the feel of her 'and and arm! - you might have knocked me down
with a feather. But here's
and you're more sea-lawyer than seaman to my mind. But I'll tell
you what: if you can pay, you can stay. So there.
PEW. No chink, no drink? That's your motto, is it? Well,
that's sense. Now, look here, ma'am, I ain't beautiful like you;
but I'm good, and I'll give you warrant for it. Get me a noggin
of rum, and suthin' to scoff, and a penny pipe, and a half-a-foot
of baccy; and there's a guinea for the reckoning. There's plenty
more in the locker; so bear a hand, and be smart. I don't like
waiting; it ain't my way. (EXIT MRS. DRAKE, R. PEW SITS AT THE
TABLE, R. THE SETTLE CONCEALS HIM FROM ALL THE UPPER PART OF THE
STAGE.)
MRS. DRAKE (RE-ENTERING). Here's the rum, sailor.
PEW (DRINKS). Ah, rum! That's my sheet-anchor: rum and the
blessed Gospel. Don't you forget that, ma'am: rum and the
Gospel is old Pew's sheet-anchor. You can take for another while
you're about it; and, I say, short reckonings make long friends,
hey? Where's my change?
MRS. DRAKE. I'm counting it now. There, there it is, and thank
you for your custom. (SHE GOES OUT, R.)
PEW (CALLING AFTER HER). Don't thank me, ma'am; thank the act of
parleyment! Rum, fourpence; two penny pieces and a Willi'm-and-
Mary tizzy makes a shilling; and a spade half-guinea is eleven
and six (RE-ENTER MRS. DRAKE WITH SUPPER, PIPE, ETC.); and a
blessed majesty George the First crown-piece makes sixteen and
six; and two shilling bits is eighteen and six; and a new
half-crown makes - no it don't! O, no! Old Pew's too smart a
hand to be bammed with a soft half-tusheroon.
MRS. DRAKE (CHANGING PIECE). I'm sure I didn't know it, sailor.
PEW (TRYING NEW COIN BETWEEN HIS TEETH). In course you didn't,
my dear; but I did, and I thought I'd mention it. Is that my
supper, hey? Do my nose deceive me? (SNIFFING AND FEELING.)
Cold duck? sage and onions? a round of double Gloster? and that
noggin o' rum? Why, I declare if I'd stayed and took pot-luck
with my old commander, Cap'n John Gaunt, he couldn't have beat
this little spread, as I've got by act of parleyment.
MRS. DRAKE (AT KNITTING). Do you know the captain, sailor?
PEW. Know him? I was that man's bos'un, ma'am. In the Guinea
trade, we was known as 'Pew's Cap'n,' and 'Gaunt's Bo'sun,' one
for other like. We was like two brothers, ma'am. And a
excellent cold duck, to be sure; and the rum lovely.
MRS. DRAKE. If you know John Gaunt, you know his daughter
Arethusa.
PEW. What? Arethusa? Know her, says you? know her? Why, Lord
love you, I was her god-father. ['Pew,' says Jack Gaunt to me,
'Pew,' he says, 'you're a man,' he says; 'I like a man to be a
man,' says he, 'and damme,' he says, 'I like YOU; and sink me,'
says he, 'if you don't promise and vow in the name of that
new-born babe,' he says, 'why damme, Pew,' says he, 'you're not
the man I take you for.'] Yes, ma'am, I named that female; with
my own 'ands I did; Arethusa, I named her; that was the name I
give her; so now you know if I speak true. And if you'll be as
good as get me another noggin of rum, why, we'll drink her 'elth
with three times three. (EXIT MRS. DRAKE: PEW EATING. MRS.
DRAKE RE-ENTERING WITH RUM.)
[MRS. DRAKE. If what you say be true, sailor (and I don't say it
isn't, mind!), it's strange that Arethusa and that godly man her
father have never so much as spoke your name.
PEW. Why, that's so! And why, says you? Why, when I dropped in
and paid my respecks this morning, do you think she knew me? No
more'n a babe unborn! Why, ma'am, when I promised and vowed for
her, I was the picter of a man-o'-war's man, I was: eye like a
eagle; walked the deck in a hornpipe, foot up and foot down;
v'ice as mellow as rum; 'and upon 'art, and all the females took
dead aback at the first sight, Lord bless 'em! Know me? Not
likely. And as for me, when I found her such a lovely woman - by
the feel of her 'and and arm! - you might have knocked me down
with a feather. But here's