"Who'd have thought a little dodger like that would upset him?" said somebody else. "By George we'll all get found out, through him."
"Whads mare?" said Frank, meaning to ask, "What is the matter?" but somehow he could not make his organs of articulation go off right. "'Zis wachecall drung?" (Is this what you call drunk?)
"Can ye walk?"—He recognized the voice of his friend Tucket.—"It's too bad to leave him here, boys. We must get him to his berth 'fore he's any worse."
"Zhue, Sef?" (Is it you, Seth?) Frank, with the help of his friend, got upon his feet. "No, I don' breeve I'm drung; I be bernaliddlewile;" meaning to say he did not believe he was intoxicated, and to express his conviction that he would be better in a little while.
Seth repeated his first inquiry.
"Izzindee! I kung wong!" (Yes, indeed, I can walk.) And Frank, as if to demonstrate the absurdity of the pretence, went stumbling loosely over the freight, saved from falling only by the assistance of his friend.
"Here's the ladder," said Tucket; "now be careful."
"'M I goung upthlarer, or am I goung downth larer?" (Was he going up the ladder or was he going down the ladder?)
Tucket proceeded to show him that the ladder was to be ascended; and, directing him how to hold on, and how to place his feet, boosted him gently, while a comrade above drew him also gently, until he was got safely out.
"I did that perrywell!" said Frank. "Now lemme hell Sef!" (Now let me help Seth.) "You're a bully fellel, Sef. I'll hellup ye!"