Not that I cared
a fig's end for Cludde, or feared any ill result from a personal
encounter; but I knew the inn was a property of Sir Richard's, who
would speedily find a new tenant if Dick got a broken head there.
There was nothing for it but to stay where I was, and bear with
what patience I might the interruption to my scarcely begun
journey. So I sat in my chair, and even through the closed door
could hear the loud voices of the naval men and the rattle of the
dice on the board. They called often for more wine, and grew more
and more boisterous as their potations lengthened, giving me a hope
that they would by and by be so fuddled as to make it possible for
me to escape unrecognized. But this hope was soon dashed.
"Let's have another bottle!" cried one of the three; his speech was
very thick. "Let's have another."
"No, no," said another. "You've had enough, Kirkby; and Cludde
there is half asleep already."
"Ads bobs, Walton," returned the man addressed as Kirkby, "are you
growing like Benbow? No wine, no gentlemen! What's things comm' to,
I say, when a fellow like Benbow, no gentleman"--(he pronounced it
"gemman")--"flies his flag on a king's ship!"
And then, being perfectly tipsy, he launched out into violent abuse
of Joe Punchard's captain, who was, it is true, a rough and ready
seaman, and, I must own, somewhat uncouth in his manners. From his
words I learned that Kirkby had been a lieutenant on Benbow's ship,
and was deeply incensed that any one who was not a "gemman" should
have had the right to give him orders.
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