An' if I ever meets a lady with long soft hands like his'n, I'm for a pert talk, straightway." "What's the matter with his hands ?" asked the admiral.
"Why, Commodore, they're as soft as Miss Laura's here, an' yet when th' big Swede who handles th' baggage was a-foolin' with him this mornin', it was the Swede who begs off.

Nary a callous, an' yet he bowls the big one round the deck like he was a liner being pierced by a sassy tug.

An' what gets me is, he knows every bolt from stem to stern, sir, an' an all-round good sailor int' th' bargain; an' it don' take me more'n twelve hours t' find that out.

Well, I'm off t' th' bridge.
Good day, ladies." When he was out of earshot the admiral roared.

"He's the dearest old liar since Muenchhausen." "Aren't they true stories ?" asked Hildegarde.
"Bless you, no! And he knows we know it, too.