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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Bostock Bostock," he said, softly; but there was no answer, and he bent down and touched the sleeper on the shoulder. "Where away then?" grumbled the man. "Bostock, wake up." "Heave to! D'yer hear? heave to!" came in low, muttered tones. "Bostock, man, wake up. You've been asleep these ten or twelve hours." Still no sensible reply, and the doctor gave the man a rough shake.
He found that worthy looking as benevolently greasy as ever, and ready to offer him all the resources of his larder. "I thought I'd come and get my tea now, cook, I've got to go out on patrol at sundown. I'm afraid I'm a beastly nuisance." "Nuisance? No, o' course not. I ain't one o' them blokes as grumble cause a feller's 'ungry. Wot d'yer say to a bit o' cold meat and some tea to start with?"
For a moment the big stoker's arm quivered to strike, then slowly fell. "You ain't worth smashin'," Sullivan snarled, and turned away. "Well, what d'yer know about that!" the new stoker cried. "It's that way all the time," he was answered; "there ain't a trip Dan don't ball the Mouse out to a fare-you-well; but he never lays hand to 'im. None of us knows why." "You don't? Well, I do.
"D'yer think yer will ever get ashore?" asked Donkin, angrily. Wait came back with a start. "Ten days," he said, promptly, and returned at once to the regions of memory that know nothing of time. He felt untired, calm, and safely withdrawn within himself beyond the reach of every grave incertitude.
The little fellow scrambled to him, and putting his tiny chubby arms about the man's coarse neck, nestled his head upon his shoulder, and turned to gaze at the farmer and his wife. "Not my bairn!" growled the man; "what d'yer say to that?" "Lor, Izick, only look," said the woman in a whisper. "My!"
"I'm sorry, old chap," said Mr. Fotheringay, and then realising the awkward nature of the explanation, caught nervously at his moustache. He saw Winch, one of the three Immering constables, advancing. "What d'yer mean by it?" asked the constable. "Hullo! It's you, is it? The gent that broke the lamp at the Long Dragon!" "I don't mean anything by it," said Mr. Fotheringay. "Nothing at all."
"Here, Mr Lacey, Colonel, I want to know I will know if S'Richard's hurt " "Sir Richard! The man's drunk," cried the colonel. "No, I ain't; but it's enough to make me," roared Jerry. "I am drunk now with what you gents call indignation. If S'Richard's hurt, it's foul play, and it's that black-hearted, cheating, gambling hound as done it. Keep back! d'yer hear? It's all over now.
Then they lost it altogether and nothing remained save the whitish blurs in the blue sky and a hardly audible booming in the far distance. "I bet 'e's took some photographs 'e'll be over to-night. I reckon we're bloody lucky to be at a C.C.S." "D'yer think 'e wouldn't bomb a C.C.S.?" "Course 'e wouldn't 'e knows as well as what we do that there's some of 'is own wounded at C.C.S.'s."
She was altogether a more satisfactory chancellor than the other. She always insisted on your stating your own price to begin with. "Well, what d'yer think yerself, mum?" was her invariable ejaculation, and then, hearing your reply, would break in on whatever you said by "It ain't worth more than 'arf that to me, mum," in the most aggrieved voice.
"Read heaps about it about business about trade and finance and that. It fascinates me." The gust explodes at her. "Wat d'yer mean read about it? Read about what?" "Uncle, about money, about finance and things. I know it's extraordinary I should like such things. But I do. I can't tell why. It's like like a romance to me, all about money and how it is made and managed.
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