Who will bear more fatigue than our sailors ?" "Yes, yes, Mr Simple, that is because they are _endured_ to it from their hard life: but if the common sailors were all such little thread-papers as you, and had been brought up so carefully, they would not have gone through all you have.

That's my opinion, Mr Simple-- there's nothing like _blood_." "I think, Mr Chucks, you carry your ideas on that subject too far." "I do not, Mr Simple; and I think, moreover, that he who has more to lose than another will always strive more.

Now a common man only fights for his own credit; but when a man is descended from a long line of people famous in history, and has a coat _in_ arms, criss-crossed, and stuck all over with lions and unicorns to support the dignity of--why, has he not to fight for the credit of all his ancestors, whose names would be disgraced if he didn't behave well ?" "I agree with you, Mr Chucks, in the latter remark, to a certain extent." "Ah! Mr Simple, we never know the value of good descent when we have it, but it's when we cannot get it that we can _'preciate_ it.

I wish I had been born a nobleman--I do, by heavens!" and Mr Chucks slapped his fist against the funnel, so as to make it ring again.

"Well, Mr Simple," continued he, after a pause, "it is, however, a great comfort to me that I have parted company with that fool, Mr Muddle, with his twenty-six thousand and odd years, and that old woman, Dispart, the gunner.