What in the name of fortune's he doing to his hands ?" "He's _washing_ them with a lump of grease," said I."I saw Francis give it him.

It's to get the tar off." "That indeed?
Alister! _Alister_! Have ye no eyes in the back of ye?
Here's Jack and myself." "I beg your pardon, sir," said Alister, stiffly.
"Oh, confound your _sir_-liness!" muttered Dennis, and added aloud, "Is that pomatum for your hair ?" Alister laughed in spite of himself.
"More like hair-_dye_, sir," said he, and rubbing desperately at his fingers, he added, "I can't get them decent." "Ah, let them rest!" said Dennis.

"It's painting the lily to adorn them.
On ye go; and mind ye keep near to us, and we'll make a landlubber's parliament in a corner to ourselves." My first friend had thawed, and went cheerfully ahead of us, as I was very glad to see.

Dennis saw it too, but only to relapse into mischief.
He held me back, as Alister strode in front, and putting out his thumb and finger, so close to a tuft of hay-coloured hair that stood cocked defiantly up on the Scotchman's crown that I was in all the agony he meant me to be for fear of detection, he chattered in my ear, "Jack, did ye ever study physiognomy, or any of the science of externals?
Look at this independent tuft.

Isn't the whole character of the man in it?
Could mortal man force it down?
Could the fingers of woman coax it?
Would ye appeal to it with argument?
Would hair's grease, bear's grease -- --" But his peroration was suddenly cut short by a rush from behind, one man tumbling over another on the road to the forecastle.