"Now then, you, sir, what will you take this ship up to the Downs for?"
"Thirty pounds."
Roberts told him roughly he would not get thirty pounds out of' _him._
"Thyse and no higher, my Bo," answered the pilot sturdily: he had been
splicing the main brace, and would have answered an admiral.
Robarts swore at him lustily: Pilot discharged a volley in return with
admirable promptitude. Robarts retorted, the other rough customer
rejoined, and soon all Billingsgate thundered on the _Agra's_
quarter-deck. Finding, to his infinite disgust, his visitor as great a
blackguard as himself, and not to be outsworn, Robarts ordered him to
quit the ship on pain of being man-handled over the side.
"Oh, that's it, is it?" growled the other: "here's fill and be off then."
He prudently bottled the rest of his rage till he got safe into his boat,
then shook his fist at the _Agra_, and cursed her captain sky-high. "You
see the fair wind, but you don't see the Channel fret a-coming, ye greedy
gander. Downs! You'll never see them: you have saved your ---- money, and
lost your ---- ship, ye ---- lubber.
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