"'Twasn't nothin' wrong."
"Nothin' wrong!—t' bait un so?"
"Jus' a bit o' sport."
"Sorry sport!"
"Ah, well, he've growed used to it."
T' this the lad was listenin' like a caribou o' the barrens scentin' peril.
"'Twas a naughty thing t' do, ye ol' crab!" says the skipper t' Anthony Lot.
The lad struck in.
"Isn't it true?" says he.
Skipper Harry cotched the quiver o' doubt an' fear in his voice an' was warned jus' in time. There was jus' one thing t' say.