"Cut us open, you derned fool!"
Dan retorted savagely: "Now ye're so near yer end, I'd go easy with sech talk, if I was you."
"I beg yer pardon," said Pete, "but I'm scairt of the Perfessor's eye. Anyways, sink or swim, I'll hev no man gittin' his knife into me."
Dan sat up.
"Boys," he said emphatically, "you kin do as you please, but I'm goin' to hev a las' kind word with my Mame."
He slipped out of his bunk.
"Me too," said Jimmie. He glanced at Pete, who lay still. "My regards to the Perfessor, and tell him that he'll find us at old man Greiffenhagen's. I'll hev one more taste of happiness before I die."
Dan hauled out his battered trunk and opened it. Pete sat up.
"Talkin' o' tasting, so will I," said he. "Give me that ther demijohn. I'll die like the Dook o' Clarence."
Jimmie picked up the demijohn and looked at it with lingering eyes.