"I s'pose you just volunteered, Mr Jim?" said the third.
"Yes," said Marah; "he just volunteered. I want you to witness his name on the articles." He produced a sheet of paper which was scrawled all over with names. "Now, Mr Jim," he said, "your name, please. There's ink and pen in the chest here."
"What d'ye want my name for?" I asked.
"Signing on," he said, winking at me. "It's only a game."
"I won't set my name to the paper." I cried. "I'll have nothing to do with you. I'd sooner die—far sooner."
"That's a pity," said Marah, taking up the pen. "Well, if you won't, you won't."
He bent over the chest and wrote "Jim Davis" in a round, unformed, boyish hand, not unlike my own.
"Now, boys," he said, "you have seen the signature. Witness it, please."
The men witnessed the signature and made their clumsy crosses; none of them could write.
"You see?" asked Marah. "We were bound to get you, Jim. You've signed our articles." "I've done nothing of the kind," I said. "Oh! but you have," he said calmly. "Here's your witnessed signature. You're one of us now."