“This is fifty million times worse than pink rats,” ses Bill. “I on'y wish it was a pink rat.”
“I tell you there is nothing there,” ses his wife. “Look!”
Bill put his 'ead up and looked, and then 'e gave a dreadful scream and dived under the bed-clothes agin.
“Oh, well, 'ave it your own way, then,” ses his wife. “If it pleases you to think there is a ghost there, and to go on talking to it, do so, and welcome.”
She turned over and pretended to go to sleep agin, and arter a minute or two Silas spoke agin in the same hollow voice.
“Bill!” he ses.
“Yes,” ses Bill, with a groan of his own.
“She can't see me,” ses Silas, “and she can't 'ear me; but I'm 'ere all right. Look!”
“I 'ave looked,” ses Bill, with his 'ead still under the clothes.
“We was always pals, Bill, you and me,” ses Silas; “many a v'y'ge 'ave we had together, mate, and now I'm a-laying at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, and you are snug and 'appy in your own warm bed. I 'ad to come to see you, according to promise, and over and above that, since I was drowned my eyes 'ave been opened. Bill, you're drinking yourself to death!”