( A fine night to be marooned empty-handed, drink to spare and the clamour of the deck belly building, merrymaking all stoked — and second mate Mr. Eames, old salt of a hundred seas, stands bereft with his mouth a dour, steeling line.

He grunts when the young foreigner approaches, less in greeting or inviting him over than in the time-honoured indication at sea that a man has been sighted, and he will be tolerated for the time it takes for both parties to acquire better sense and a mutual aversion of each other's fleas. )

...lost me silver. To'at rascal there, Cod.

( And he nods to a man lean, mean, grinning over another set of cards, while a different sailor before him curses up a storm. Mr. Eames, graciously: )

He cheats just as well as the dead whore his mother did on his good father.