"Two shillings," said she, holding the bottle to the light to see how much I had taken.
"Here it is," said I.
"Stewardess a shilling—make three."
I determined to resist this extortion, for on that line of packets the steward's fee is included in the fare. I told her so.
"You mean old chap," said Miss Fortescue. "I give you nothing more."
I tried to look dignified and indifferent, but it was of no use. You can't look dignified when you are perpetually bobbing up and down on a lopping sea supported entirely by an India-rubber bag round the neck. Besides, I was very hungry, and she had a largo waterproof basket on her arm, so I gave her the shilling, which she bit and pocketed.
"Now then," said she, "what's to do next?"
"What have you got there?" said I.
"German sausage—cucumber—carrot—bottle barley-water—two tomatoes—a bloater—two eggs—one pound macaroni—head of endive—stick Spanish liquorice—three pounds snuff."
"What are your terms for the carrot?"
"Carrot very dear out here, you peculiar old one. Carrot a guinea."
"Hand it over."
I gave her a guinea, and ate the carrot.
"Now," said she, "I go straight on in that direction for shore. Come along, old one!"
"Never!" said I; "I will take the opposite point of the compass, and run my chance. Good bye."
