"John," said he,
taking off his naval cap, and mopping his forehead, "you're all goin' to
be murdered to-night in your bunks, else I wouldn't ha' quit dock o'
Sunday."
"Whatever do you mean, Thomas?"
"I mean what I say, and well to you and yourn. Sylvanus was down at
Peskiwanchow, gettin' some things his brother left there, when he
shipped for you. There's a bad crew in that whiskey mill, and, fool as
he is, he was sharp enough to hear them unbeknown. Says one of 'em,
'Better get out the fire-engines from town,' and he laughed. Says
another, 'Guess the boys'll hev a nice bonefire waitin' for us, time we
get to Flanders.' Then the low-down slab-pilers got their mutinous heads
together, and says, 'The J.P. and the bailiff's got to be roasted
anyway, wisht we could heave Nash in atop.' I've left the cursing and
swearin' out, because it's useless ballast, and don't count in the deal
any more'n sawdust. Now, John, what do you think of that?"
"It looks serious, Thomas, if your man is to be depended on."
"My man depended on? Sylvanus Pilgrim to be depended on? There's no more
dependable able-bodied seaman and master mill-hand afloat nor ashore.
Pages:
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304