“‘Deer captin i take my pen in hand for the larst time to innform you that i am no more suner than heat the ’orrible stuff what you kail meet i have drownded miself it is a moor easy death than starvin’ i ’ave left my clasp nife to bill an’ my silver wotch to it is ’ard too dee so young tommie brown.’”
“Splendid!” said Ned, as the reader finished and looked inquiringly round.
“I put in that bit about the knife and the watch to make it seem real,” said Bill, with modest pride; “but, if you like, I’ll leave ’em to you instead, Ned.”
“I don’t want ’em,” said the old man generously.
“Put your cloes on,” said Bill, turning to the whimpering Tommy.
“I’m not going down that fore ’old,” said Tommy desperately. “You may as well know now as later on—I won’t go.”
“Cookie,” said Bill calmly, “just ’and me them cloes, will you? Now, Tommy.”
“I tell you I’m not going to,” said Tommy.
“An’ that little bit o’ rope, cookie,” said Bill; “it’s just down by your ’and. Now, Tommy.”
The youngest member of the crew looked from his clothes to the rope, and from the rope back to his clothes again.