To continue: I perfected myself in the language, and it was awfully jolly at first.

Whenever I went by train, I heard not only all the engines said, but what every blessed carriage thought, that joined in the conversation.

If you chaps only knew what rot those whistles can get off! And as for the brakes, they can beat any mule driver in cursing.
Then, after a time, it got rather monotonous, and I took a short sea trip for my health.

But, by Jove, every blessed inch of the whole ship--from the screw to the bowsprit--had something to say, and the bad language used by the garboard strake when the ship rolled was something too awful! You don't happen to know what the garboard strake is, do you ?" "No," I replied.
"No more do I.

That's the dreadful thing about it.