Dave turned a trifle pale.
“It sounds horrid,” he said.
“So it is,” observed Tom, “but it’s got to be done. ’Ere, you take the knife an’ ’old the pint towards me an’ swear.”
Dave did as he was told, repeating an elaborate formula, which Tom made up specially for the occasion.
Then Tom held the point of the knife to Dave, pressed it against where he judged his mate’s heart to be, and swore in the same way.
“Now,” he resumed, when the vow of secrecy had been thus solemnly taken, “that’s done, an’ it can’t be undone, an’ we better go now an’ have a look round the island.”
“We better look out an’ get some tucker for dinner, too,” ventured Dave. “There’s nothing left except about three inches of crust an’ an inch an’ a half o’ jam.”
“Well, we’ll whack that now, an’ start fair,” suggested Tom. “I’m as ’ungry as ole Nick.”
“So am I,” agreed Dave. “I’m ’ungry all the time.”