For a moment the mate, who knew George’s temper, thought it highly probable that he would, as the top of the second match fell between his shirt and his neck.
“Don’t look any more,” said the skipper anxiously; “you can’t do him any good.”
His visitor handed him the matches, and, for a short time, sobbed in silence.
“We’ve done all we could for him,” said the skipper at length. “It ’ud be best for you to go home and lay down a bit.”
“You’re all very good, I’m sure,” whispered the widow, turning away. “I’ll send for him this evening.”
They all started, especially the corpse.
“Eh?” said the skipper.
“He was a bad ’usband to me,” she continued, still in the same sobbing whisper, “but I’ll ’ave ’im put away decent.”
“You’d better let us bury him,” said the skipper. “We can do it cheaper than you can, perhaps?”
“No. I’ll send for him this evening,” said the lady. “Are they ’is clothes?”