Three minutes passed, it might have been hours, so long the time seemed.
‘Seems it’s done jawing, whatever it is,’ said Finn.
We listened again.
‘Tell ’ee it’s rats, lads,’ said Finn.
‘As the cuss was meant for this ’ere craft,’ exclaimed the deep voice that had before spoken, ‘perhaps if her owner was to come below, the sperrit, if so be it’s that, ’ud tarn to and talk out again.’
‘Tell ’ee, it’s rats!’ cried Finn scornfully.
‘Rats!’ exclaimed Crimp, with great irritation, ‘if that’s all why don’t Sir Wilfrid lay forrard and listen for hisself?’
‘Won’t he come?’ said one of the men.
‘Come! no,’ rattled out Crimp, ‘and why? ’Cause he knows it’s the truth.’
‘Well,’ exclaimed Cutbill, ‘speaking with all proper respect, seems to me that what’s meat for the dawg ought to be meat for the man in the likes of such a humble-come-tumble out of the maintop into the main-hold sort o’ job as this.’