GAMBLING—AN UNLUCKY HIT.
The day wore on without any thing worth relating. At length I was disturbed by a loud burst of laughter on deck, and adjourned to the open air. The first thing that struck me was poor little Dicky Phantom, a close prisoner in a turkey basket—a large wicker cage-looking affair, that we had originally brought from the frigate with poultry. He was crying bitterly.
"Dogvane, what has the child been doing that you have imprisoned him in this way?"
"Why, sir," said Mr Weevil, the purser, "it is a vagary of Lennox's. The child was certainly nearly overboard to-day, so, for fear of accidents, he has chosen to coop him up in this fantastical manner, as if he had been a turkey."
"Poo, poo—release him. Here, Dicky, come out, will you?"
I undid the latch, and the little fellow crept out on all-fours. As soon as he was at large, he laid hold of the cage, and would have thrown it overboard, if I had not prevented him.
"No, no, Master Dicky, it is a good idea of Lennox's; and mind, whenever you are a bad boy, in you go again."
"I was not bad boy," said the urchin; "Lennox' big mens were bad boy."
"How, Dicky, how?"
"Oh, dem shame poor Quacco—see, see, dere."