“I don’t know, Bob. But who’s that snoring so?”
“Where?”
“Somebody was snoring just now, but it stopped when you spoke.”
“Then I s’pose it must ha’ been me, my lad. I have heard say as I could play a pretty good toon on my nose when I was very fast asleep.”
“No. There it goes again,” I said in a hoarse whisper, as the noise which I had first heard recommenced.
“Oh, there’s no gammon ’bout that, my lad. That there’s Neb Dumlow. If ever you’re anywheres and hears a sound like a vessel blowing off her steam under water, all snort and bubble, you may take your oath it’s Neb Dumlow. Here, I’ll stop that.”
“Wait a moment, Bob,” I said. “I want to know first where we are.”
“So do I, my lad, but it seems to me, as my old mother used to say, that want’ll be your master. I dunno, my lad; arn’t dead and buried, are we?”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” I said peevishly. “Look here,—were you on the middle watch last night?”
“Dunno, my lad,—were you?”