Yer not 'arf bad, 'Ump! You've got spunk, as you Yanks s'y, an' I like yer in a w'y.

So come on an' shyke." Coward that I might be, I was less a coward than he.

It was a distinct victory I had gained, and I refused to forego any of it by shaking his detestable hand.
"All right," he said pridelessly, "tyke it or leave it, I'll like yer none the less for it." And to save his face he turned fiercely upon the onlookers.

"Get outa my galley-doors, you bloomin' swabs!" This command was reinforced by a steaming kettle of water, and at sight of it the sailors scrambled out of the way.

This was a sort of victory for Thomas Mugridge, and enabled him to accept more gracefully the defeat I had given him, though, of course, he was too discreet to attempt to drive the hunters away.
"I see Cooky's finish," I heard Smoke say to Horner.
"You bet," was the reply.