“There they go,” ses the cook agin; “but wot is that 'orrible black thing with claws that's 'anging over Bill?”
Pore Bill nearly fell out of 'is bunk, but he saved 'imself at the last moment and lay there as pale as death, listening.
“It must be meant for Bill,” ses the cook, “Well, pore Bill; he won't know of it, that's one thing. Let's 'ope it'll be sudden.”
He lay quiet for some time and then he began again.
“No,” he ses, “it isn't Bill; it's Joseph and Emily, stark and stiff, and they've on'y been married a week. 'Ow awful they look! Pore things. Oh! oh! o-oh!”
He woke up with a shiver and began to groan and then 'e sat up in his bunk and saw old Bill leaning out and staring at 'im.
“You've been dreaming, cook,” ses Bill, in a trembling voice.
“'Ave I?” ses the cook. “How do you know?”
“About me and my niece,” ses Bill; “you was talking in your sleep.”
“You oughtn't to 'ave listened,” ses the cook, getting out of 'is bunk and going over to 'im. “I 'ope you didn't 'ear all I dreamt. 'Ow much did you hear?”