“Wot’s up?” I ses.
“Sitting on something hard,” he ses. “I wish people ’ud be more careful.”
He took a list to port and felt under the star-board side. Then he brought his ’and up and tried to wipe the mud off and see wot he ’ad got.
“Wot is it?” I ses, with a nasty sinking sort o’ feeling inside me.
“I don’t know,” he ses, going on wiping. “It’s soft outside and ’ard inside. It——”
“Let’s ’ave a look at it,” I ses, holding out my ’and.
“It’s nothing,” he ses, in a queer voice, getting up and steering for the ladder. “Bit of oyster-shell, I think.”
He was up that ladder hand over fist, with me close behind ’im, and as soon as he ’ad got on to the wharf started to run to ’is ship.
“Good night, Bill,” he ses, over ’is shoulder.
“Arf a moment.” I ses, follering ’im.