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A party of American bluejackets gun crews were at another table. They heard us speak English, whereat one of them called over: "Say, you guys comprong English? Wee, wee? Then you oughter been where we were yesterday. Yuh'd seen something. Fighting U-boats we were. Comprong? U-boats wee, wee, U-boats. Thirty-six of 'em came after us an' we sunk twelve. Whaddyer know about that?"
"If you know it ain't the way to get off whaddyer do it for?" said the heath-keeper, in a tone of friendly controversy. Mr. Hoopdriver got out his screw hammer and went to the handle. He was annoyed. "That's my business, I suppose," he said, fumbling with the screw. The unusual exertion had made his hands shake frightfully.
The nurse went off, carrying Jimmie's chamber to be emptied; and while she was gone, the man in the next bed, a gun-pointer from an American destroyer with his head bandaged up so that he looked like a Hindu swami, turned his tired eyes upon Jimmie and drawled: "Say, you guy, you better can that line o' talk!" "Whaddyer mean?" demanded Jimmie, scenting controversy with some militarist.
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