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'Go it, owld gal, give it to him. 'Tis a leddy-killer he is fer sure, 'pon me whurd, fer a fact. Claw him, bite him, even though he's as tough as nails. Yell him deaf, owld leddy. Do it fer his mether's sake, th' scand'lous owld rake he is. Get his year in yer teeth an' hold on, fer 'tis a leddy-killer ye have in yer hands at last. Whang his hide off! Whang him!
Th' noise brought Andrews on deck in time to get men to keep th' crowd off his ship, an' thin O'Toole comes up. "'What's th' row? he bawls to th' mate, but O'Toole ware laffin' so he couldn't spake a whurd. Finally he got it out. "'Faith, 'tis th' leddy-killer av th' fleet, Garnett, at his owld game, sez he. ''Pon me whurd, 'tis a hangin' matter this time, fer th' damage he's done th' sex.
"She ware a tough-lookin' old gal, an' her hat brim flopped over her face. O'Toole met her an' pointed to Garnett. "'If it's th' leddy-killer av th' fleet ye're afther, there he Stan's. "Th' old woman looked an' stopped. "'No, says she, in a sort o' jangled tone, 'eets my little gal I looks fer she's aboard here wid th' capt'in,
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