“Oh, if you put it that way, sir, I’m ready,” growled the man; “but I don’t seem to have got no hands. It was orfle lying here, and one corner o’ that rug as you stuffed into my mouth got a bit o’ the way down my throat, and kep’ on tickling me till I wanted to cough, and couldn’t. Say, Bob Hampton, mate, air you going to untie them knots and cast off these here lashings, or arn’t you?”
“Why, they are off your arms, man.”
“When what’s gone o’ my arms? Have they been took off?”
“Nay, they’re all right.”
“Well, my legs arn’t. Nice way to sarve a fellow.”
“Shake hands, Barney,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Can’t, sir. You must do it yourself. I don’t b’lieve yet as I’ve got no hands, no arms, nor anything else, but a head.”
“There you are, matey,” cried Bob Hampton. “Did you tie them ropes, Mr Brymer, sir? They was tight ’uns.”
“No; it was Mr Dale here.”
“Oh, him!” growled Bob Hampton. “Well, they was done in a second-hand sort o’ way.”