"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. Look at me! I
can 'ave my beer w'en I like, an' no blessed missus an' kids a-crying for
bread. I'm 'appy, I am, with my beer an' mates like you, an' a good ship
comin', an' another trip to sea. So I say, let's 'ave another pint. Arf
an' arf's good enough for me."
Without going further with the speech of this young fellow of two-and-
twenty, I think I have sufficiently indicated his philosophy of life and
the underlying economic reason for it. Home life he had never known. The
word "home" aroused nothing but unpleasant associations. In the low
wages of his father, and of other men in the same walk in life, he found
sufficient reason for branding wife and children as encumbrances and
causes of masculine misery.
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