“I told 'er I was coming straight away to drownd myself,” pursued Mr. Heard. “My last words to 'er was, 'When you see my bloated corpse you'll be sorry.'”
“I expect she'll cry and carry on like anything,” said the mate, politely.
The other turned and regarded him. “Why, you don't think I'm going to, do you?” he inquired, sharply. “Why, I wouldn't drownd myself for fifty blooming gells.”
“But what did you tell her you were going to for, then?” demanded the puzzled mate.
“'Cos I thought it would upset 'er and make 'er give way,” said the other, bitterly; “and all it done was to make 'er laugh as though she'd 'ave a fit.”
“It would serve her jolly well right if you did drown yourself,” said Mr. Dix, judiciously. “It 'ud spoil her life for her.”
“Ah, and it wouldn't spoil mine, I s'pose?” rejoined Mr. Heard, with ferocious sarcasm.
“How she will laugh when she sees you to-morrow,” mused the mate. “Is she the sort of girl that would spread it about?”
Mr. Heard said that she was, and, forgetting for a moment his great love, referred to her partiality for gossip in the most scathing terms he could muster. The mate, averse to such a tame ending to a promising adventure, eyed him thoughtfully.
“Why not just go in and out again,” he said, seductively, “and run to her house all dripping wet?”