panying symbols and initials which we could hardly distinguish.
“Now am I safe for Christian burial or not, in the case I’d be misfortunate enough to be washed up on the shores of a haythen counthry?”
“Ye are so!”
I never saw a funnier sight than Pat craning and twisting his head in futile efforts to look at it under his own arm.
“It’s a foin piece of work, I’m told,” said he.
“They tould ye no less than the truth that said that, Pat. It’s a mighty foin piece of work.”
“They all say so that see it,” sighed Pat, tucking his shirt in again, “and that’ll be ivry soul but meself, worse luck!”
“Shaughnessey!”
“Sir!”
Pat ran off, and as I turned I saw that the crew of the whaleboat were going below with a crowd of satellites, and that a space was cleared through which I could see the man they had saved still lying on the deck, with the captain kneeling at his head, and looking back as if he were waiting for something. And at that moment the moon shone out once more, and showed me a sight that I’ll forget when I forget you—Dennis O’Moore!