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“‘Well, you done it, Bill,’ ses Joe, after waiting a long time for them to speak. ‘Tell us all about it.’

“‘Nothin’ to tell,’ ses Bill, very surly. ‘We knocked ‘im about.’

“‘And he knocked us about,’ ses Bob, with a groan. ‘I’m sore all over, and as for my feet–‘

“‘Wot’s the matter with them?’ ses Joe.

“‘Trod on,’ ses Bob, very short. ‘If my bare feet was trod on once they was a dozen times. I’ve never ‘ad such a doing in all my life. He fought like a devil. I thought he’d ha’ murdered Bill.’

“‘I wish ‘e ‘ad,’ ses Bill, with a groan; ‘my face is bruised and cut about cruel. I can’t bear to touch it.’

“‘Do you mean to say the two of you couldn’t settle ‘im?’ ses Joe, staring.

“‘I mean to say we got a hiding,’ ses Bill. ‘We got close to him fust start off and got our feet trod on. Arter that it was like fighting a windmill, with sledge-hammers for sails.’

“He gave a groan and turned over in his bunk, and when we asked him some more about it, he swore at us. They both seemed quite done up, and at last they dropped off to sleep just as they was, without even stopping to wash the black off or to undress themselves.

“I was awoke rather early in the morning by the sounds of somebody talking to themselves, and a little splashing of water. It seemed to go on a long while, and at last I leaned out of my bunk and see Bill bending over a bucket and washing himself and using bad langwidge.

“‘Wot’s the matter, Bill?’ ses Joe, yawning and sitting up in bed.

“‘My skin’s that tender, I can hardly touch it,’ ses Bill, bending down and rinsing ‘is face. ‘Is it all orf?’

“‘Orf?’ ses Joe; ‘no, o’ course it ain’t. Why don’t you use some soap?’

“‘Soap,’ answers Bill, mad-like; ‘why, I’ve used more soap than I’ve used for six months in the ordinary way.’

“That’s no good,’ ses Joe; ‘give yourself a good wash.’

“Bill put down the soap then very careful, and went over to ‘im and told him all the dreadful things he’d do to him when he got strong agin, and then Bob Pullin got out of his bunk an’ ‘ad a try on his face. Him an’ Bill kept washing and then taking each other to the light and trying to believe it was coming off until they got sick of it, and then Bill, ‘e up with his foot and capsized the bucket, and walked up and down the fo’c’s’le raving.

“‘Well, the carpenter put it on,’ ses a voice, ‘make ‘im take it orf.’

“You wouldn’t believe the job we ‘ad to wake that man up. He wasn’t fairly woke till he was hauled out of ‘is bunk an’ set down opposite them two pore black fellers an’ told to make ’em white again.

“‘I don’t believe as there’s anything will touch it,’ he says, at last. ‘I forgot all about that.’

“‘Do you mean to say,’ bawls Bill, ‘that we’ve got to be black all the rest of our life?’

“‘Cert’nly not,’ ses the carpenter, indignantly, ‘it’ll wear off in time; shaving every morning ‘ll ‘elp it, I should say.’

“‘I’ll get my razor now,’ ses Bill, in a awful voice; ‘don’t let ‘im go, Bob. I’ll ‘ack ‘is head orf.’

“He actually went off an’ got his razor, but, o’ course, we jumped out o’ our bunks and got between ’em and told him plainly that it was not to be, and then we set ’em down and tried everything we could think of, from butter and linseed oil to cold tea-leaves used as a poultice, and all it did was to make ’em shinier an’ shinier.

“‘It’s no good, I tell you,’ ses the carpenter, ‘it’s the most lasting black I know. If I told you how much that stuff is a can, you wouldn’t believe me.’