Harry Girdwood turned round. Young Jack's serious manner impressed him.
"What is it, Jack?"
"I know you'll laugh," began Jack.
"Do you, Jack?" returned Harry Girdwood, promptly; "that being the case, tell me at once. I like to laugh, as you know."
"Well, Harry, it hasn't made me laugh. I was lolling half drowsily over the hatchway there, the other evening, when I suppose I dropped off asleep, and I dreamt of Hunston. I dreamt that I was going through all that ugly scene again, and while in the thick of the dream, something woke me."
"Yes."
"What do you think it was?"
"Can't say."
"Hunston's voice, moaning, groaning with pain apparently."
Harry Girdwood opened his eyes in wonder at this singular speech.