“O’Brady laughed low. ‘Bedad, Brackenbury, it wouldn’t take half a dozen hulking niggers to cook your goose. I guess two would do it, bedad, I do; Honolulu!’ The last word was almost shrieked.
“‘Goodness be near us!’ cried Brackenbury, now fairly chattering with fear. ‘What is the matter, my friend?’
“‘My hand,’ replied O’Brady, ‘was lying over the edge of the bed, and a cold nose touched it. Egad! Brackenbury, it did give me the shivers!’
“‘Hullo!’ cried Brackenbury next. ‘What’s this? Murder! Police! Guard! Fire!’ he roared.
“Then Captain Brackenbury became suddenly quiet.
“‘What is it at all, at all? Speak, friend, speak! Are the niggers killing you? Have they smothered you alive? Are you dead entirely? Speak, then!’
“But his friend did not answer immediately; when he did reply, O’Brady was more puzzled than ever, and would have given a whole month’s pay for a farthing box of matches, or half a second’s light from a purser’s dip, just to see what his companion in darkness and misery was about.
“‘My pretty darling, then,’ Brackenbury was saying, in a fond and wheedling voice. ‘Come into my arms, then, you cosy-mosy little pet. Now, now then, now then, now!’
“‘Brackenbury,’ cried O’Brady, ‘what are you saying? Is it leave of your seven senses you’re taking? Have the trials of the day been too much for you? Or is it asleep and dreaming you are?’
“‘Ha! ha! ha!’ laughed the captain. ‘’Pon my soul, O’Brady, I’m astonished at you, being afraid of a mongoose. Ha! ha! ha!’