“It is indeed,” replied Dalton with a slightly incredulous look.
“Yes, the very man. Look ye here. Have you got a note-book?”
“I have.”
“Pull it out, then. I want you to draw out my will.”
“Your will, Captain Bream!”
“My will,” repeated the captain. “Last will an’ testament.”
“But I’m not lawyer enough to—”
“I know that, man! I only want you to sketch it out. Listen. I’m going in a week or two to the North Sea in a fishing-smack. Well, there’s no sayin’ what may happen there. I’m not infallible—or invulnerable—or waterproof, though I am an old salt. Now, you are acquainted with all my money matters, so I want you to jot down who the cash is to be divided among if I should go to the bottom; then, take the sketch to my lawyer—you know where he lives—and tell him to draw it out all ship-shape, an’ bring it to me to sign. Now, are you ready?”
“But, my dear sir, this may take a long time, and the ladies will probably return before we—”
“You don’t bother your head about the ladies, my lad, but do as I tell ’ee. Miss Ruth has got hold of two pair of ears and two hearts that won’t be satisfied in five minutes. Besides, my will won’t be a long one. Are you ready?”