And in the course of this he had also hammered out a philosophy of life, an ugly and repulsive philosophy, but withal a very logical and sensible one from his point of view.When I asked him what he lived for, he immediately answered, 'Booze.' A voyage to sea (for a man must live and get the wherewithal), and then the paying off and the big drunk at the end.After that, haphazard little drunks, sponged in the 'pubs' from mates with a few coppers left, like myself, and when sponging was played out another trip to sea and a repetition of the beastly cycle.
1
'Wimmen!' He thumped his pot upon the bar and orated eloquently.
'Wimmen is a thing my edication 'as learnt me t' let alone.It don't pay, matey; it don't pay.Wot's a man like me want o' wimmen, eh? Jest you tell me.There was my mar, she was enough, a-bangin' the kids about an' makin' the ole man mis'rable when 'e come 'ome, w'ich was seldom, I grant.An' fer w'y? Becos o' mar! She didn't make 'is 'ome 'appy, that was w'y.Then, there's the other wimmen, 'ow do they treat a pore stoker with a few shillin's in 'is trouseys? A good drunk is wot 'e's got in 'is pockits, a good long drunk, an' the wimmen skin 'im out of 'is money so quick 'e ain't 'ad 'ardly a glass.I know.
I've 'ad my fling an' I know wot's wot.
'An' I tell you, where's wimmen is trouble- screechin' an'
carryin' on, fightin', cuttin', bobbies, magistrates, an' a month's 'ard labor back of it all, an' no pay-day when you come out.'