Velly good."
"My! You'd think he's an idjit to hear him," says Sadler, and looked
at Fu Shan, admiring. "But he ain't, not really."
Fu Shan chuckled a third time.
He took no more stock in the happiness of his countrymen than Sadler
did in the morals of his. They seemed to be a profitable combination,
but I didn't make out to understand Sadler, though I went as far as
to see that he had a variegated way of putting it.
Then I told him I wanted a first mate's berth on the _Good
Sister_, supposing he was willing, either on account of old times
or because he might happen to be convinced I was good enough for it.
I told him the experiences I'd had. What had happened to the _Helen
Mar_ I told him, and about the Mituas business, and the loss of
the _Anaconda_, and even about Kreps and Liebchen.
"My! My! Tommy," he says, after the last. "That's a lyric poem," he
says, referring to Kreps and Liebchen.
But he said nothing then about the _Good Sister_, and I decided
to hang around till he did, and one day he brought me a bundle of
papers.
"Here's your papers, Tommy," he says.
"Which?" I says.
"Captain's articles for Tommy Buckingham. Sign 'em," he says, "and
don't be monotonous," and I was that scared I signed my name so it
looked like a rail fence.
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