A grizzled fisherman enters the tavern twitching, jumping, unable to stand still. He calls for a kettle of boiling water from the kitchen, pours it down the front of his oilskin trousers...screams. Bellowing and dancing like an organ grinder's money on a griddle he produces a belaying pin and smacks the front of his trousers repeatedly, with a vengance. Reeling, trying not to pass out, he pulls a handful of lemon wdges off the bar and squeezes them down his pants. Finally, with a sigh of relief and contentment, he produces a morsel of white flesh.

Kat o' Nine has seen it all before. "Crabs again Smitty?"