VEFTIGORN

Avast, Brummiphalp! You waddle just a trifle more stiffly than last I saw you. Another flogging, I take it?

 

BRUMMIPHALP

’Tis true: nothing I do can please the Commodore. Just before he could see that I’d swabbed the whole deck, a new splash of bilge made it dirty again. Now I’m battered as much fore as aft, and my poor flesh is all scarred over. So toughened is it that I feel almost like one of the metals — say, pewter…

 

VEFTIGORN

You look it too! A right squat cylinder you are. And those bow-legged arms of yours look like handles to match. But you’re shinier than pewter. Why, I’d take you for a sugar bowl if I didn’t know you were full of salt.

 

BRUMMIPHALP

And you — today ye look more like a teapot than a grog-soaked lubberly dog. They must have disciplined you awfully.

 

VEFTIGORN

Yes, the first mate needs only the slightest excuse to lash me to the gangway and let loose his cat-o’-nine-tails. Now I’m all silvery and hollow inside. I’ve a great yearning to wear a cosy on my head, and as for what used to be my features, I sense a spout coming on at any moment. But I see that my misery’s as common as gannet shit.

 

BRUMMIPHALP

Aye. It seems most of the men will be indistinguishable from teaware before the next port of call. They say a sailor’s lot is rougher now than it’s ever been.

 

VEFTIGORN

And yet, that gives me an idea. Blow me cooler! We’ll run a plum rig and use our new shapes to leave this hard life for good.

 

BRUMMIPHALP

How d’you figure?

 

VEFTIGORN

Do you know of the Commodore’s chest of glistering loot?

 

BRUMMIPHALP

The talk of the ship! The honest gleanings from his career as a privateer, secure in his cabin. Silver and gold the lot of it. But none would dare…

 

VEFTIGORN

None but we! For I can pick a lock without waking him. At the next anchor drop, we’ll sneak that booty into a cargo crate and ourselves, too. We’ll look like a few vessels of sterling mixed up with the rest of it. We’ll just wait to let ‘em unload us and then we’ll vanish into a life of wealth.

 

BRUMMIPHALP

That’s a bold scheme, Veftigorn, but it just may work — especially when I mull over the particulars of that treasure stash of his…

 

VEFTIGORN

What d’ye mean?

 

BRUMMIPHALP

Why, it’s all teaware, every last bit of it. Not a coin or a stone in there — just pots, creamers, cups, draining trays, caddies, spoons…

 

VEFTIGORN

An odd batch, I must say, but all the better for us. Ahoy there!

 

(Enter Monkey, looking exactly like a tea strainer)

 

BRUMMIPHALP

That’s that little monkey who a few of the hands locked in a gibbet cage and tormented unsparingly. I thought he’d had it, but here he is again, the hardy bugger. What say ye, little scamp?

 

MONKEY

ÊÊÊmÊmmÊm mÊÊÊmm ÊÊmÊmÊÊÊ ÊÊÊÊÊÊ ÊÊÊÊÊÊ

 

VEFTIGORN

That’s tea strainer chatter, and no mistake! (Much laughter.)