“MANY’S THE SQUEEZE NED GAVE MY FIST.”
Many’s the squeeze Ned gave my fist, telling me to leave it all to him, and how comfortable he’d make me on the voyage. Day afther day we spint together, waitin’ for the wind, till I found my pockets begin to grow very light. At last, siz he to me, one day afther dinner—
“Darby, the ship will be ready for sea on the morrow—you’d betther go on boord an’ pay your way.”
“Is it jokin’ you are, Ned?” siz I; “shure you tould me to leave it all to you.”
“Ah! Darby,” siz he, “you’re for takin’ a rise out o’ me; shure enough, ye were the lad that was never without a joke—the very priest himself couldn’t get over ye. But, Darby, there’s no joke like the thrue one. I’ll stick to my promise; but, Darby, you must pay your way.”
“Oh, Ned,” siz I, “is this the way you’re goin’ to threat me afther all? I’m a rooin’d man; all I cou’d scrape together I spint on you. If you don’t do something for me, I’m lost. Is there no place where you cou’d hide me from the captin?”
“Not a place,” siz Ned.
“An’ where, Ned, is the place I saw you comin’ up out ov?”
“Oh, Darby, that was the hould where the cargo’s stow’d.”
“An’ is there no other place?” siz I.