Here Sailor Bill paused—as if he had got to the end of his story.
But his listeners were not contented with such a termination. They believed there must be something more to come—perhaps more interesting than anything yet revealed; and they clamoured for him to go on, and give them the finale.
“There’s nothing more,” said Bill, in response to the calls of the company; “at least nothing that would interest any of you.”
“Let us be the judges of that,” cried one. “Come, Bill, your story is not complete—finish it—finish it!”
“I’m sorry myself it’s not finished,” rejoined he. “It won’t be, I suppose, until I get back to Melbourne.”
“What then?” inquired several voices.
“Well then,” said Bill, forced into a reluctant confession, “I suppose it will end by my getting spliced.”
“And to the young lady, with whom you spent those pleasant evenings on the poop?”
“Exactly so. I’ve written to her, to say I’m coming to Melbourne. I intend to take her and her mother back to England—where they’ve long wished to go. Of course it would never do to make such a voyage, without first splicing the main brace, and securing the craft against all the dangers of the sea. For that reason, I’ve proposed to the young lady, that she and I make the voyage as man and wife; and I’m happy to tell you that my proposal has been accepted. Now you’ve got the whole of my yarn.”
And with this characteristic ending, Sailor Bill brought his story to a termination.