"Let be," I groaned, "I'm a dead man!"
"Then here's that shall make ye quick," says this fellow Penfeather, dangling a great key before my swimming eyes. "Here's freedom from your devil's trap and a plaguy time I've had to come by it."
"Then for the love o' God—let me out," I groaned.
"Easy all, shipmate!" says he, turning the key upon his finger. "For look'ee now, here's me, (a timid man) run no small risk this last half-hour and all for you. Now a bargain's a bargain, you'll agree?"
"Well?" says I, faintly.
"Why then, shipmate, if I free ye of your bonds, wilt be my comrade sworn? Aye or no?"
"No!" says I. "Plague take ye that bargain with dying man. No!"
"Why then," sighs he, "here's a good rick ablaze, here's John Purdy the beadle wi' his head broke, and here's me in a sweat, alack—and all to no purpose, since needs must you in your bilboes bide."
"Do but get me a draft of water!" I pleaded.
"Nary a drop!" says he, spinning the key on his finger under my nose, "Nor yet a foaming stoup o' good Kentish ale—nut brown—"