Think of it, back from a voyage, little children climbing on your knee, and the wife happy and smiling, and a kiss for you when she lays the table, and a kiss all round from the babies when they go to bed, and the kettle singing and the long talk afterwards of where you've been and what you've seen, and of her and all the little happenings at home while you've been away, and--" "Garn!" he cried, with a playful shove of his fist on my shoulder.

"Wot's yer game, eh?
A missus kissin' an' kids clim'in', an' kettle singin', all on four poun' ten a month w'en you 'ave a ship, an' four nothin' w'en you 'aven't.

I'll tell you wot I'd get on four poun' ten--a missus rowin', kids squallin', no coal t' make the kettle sing, an' the kettle up the spout, that's wot I'd get.

Enough t' make a bloke bloomin' well glad to be back t' sea.

A missus! Wot for?
T' make you mis'rable?
Kids?
Jest take my counsel, matey, an' don't 'ave 'em.