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Updated: May 21, 2025
Tom said he thought so, too, and him and I put in half a day making the platform over, while Old Dibs crossed over to the graveyard and fluted away the rest of the afternoon. We waited for the full moon before getting it into the tree, for daytime was out of the question, and Tom and I managed it very well, and to both our satisfaction.
"Mrs. Dutton," was the reply. Mr. Stiles, with one hand on his heart, toasted her feelingly; then, filling up again, he drank to the "happy couple." "She's very strict about drink," said Mr. Burton, eyeing these proceedings with some severity. "Any dibs?" inquired Mr. Stiles, slapping a pocket which failed to ring in response. "She's comfortable," replied the other, awkwardly.
Only the Kaiser's bluff, I suppose, but I'm told it's taken most of the Channel Fleet down into Spanish waters." I smiled at the activity of Wardle's journalistic imagination, and thought of the music-hall crowd. "Ah, well," I said, "'They'll never go for England, because England's got the dibs'!" "What ho!" remarked Wardle, with another yawn. And this time he was really off.
Old Dibs insisted on cutting one open and serving us out a double handful each, not forgetting a share for Tom's wife as well as mine, and saying, "Take it, and God bless you, my dear, kind friends!" We dropped it into my tool chest, and threw the key on the floor of the bedroom, meaning to divide up equal later on.
Yes, a long day, and a long, long evening, and it was like a whole week had passed before we stood under the tree and owly-owled to Old Dibs. It was a mighty faint answer he gave back, and when me and Tom had rigged up the chair again we found we had a sick man on our hands.
They were a pretty ugly crowd by nightfall, refusing to go back to the ship when ordered, and roaring and yelling about the settlement to all hours. The afterguard still kept tab on me and Tom, however, and so yet another night passed without our daring to make our date with Old Dibs.
Another had the refrain: "The dibs that take the islands Are the dollars of Peru." One long and lively piece was on the Achaean hero of a fantastic romance by Mr. Rider Haggard and myself: the Ithacan, the Stormer of the City. Stevenson exclaimed: "Ye wily auld blackguard, How far ye hae staggered, Frae Homer to Haggard And Lang."
I've got the dibs for yer ticket done up in this 'ere belt I'm a-goin' to put on you. But don't you let on to any one it's Gravesend you're a-coming to. See?" "An' if I don't get pinched?" "Then you just opens the door and me and that redheaded bloke we comes in." "What for?" asked Dickie.
Bough was good to the girl, and so was his wife, that's dead since. Uncommon! Not that they had much of the dibs to spend in those days. But, being an honest Christian man, Bough treated the girl like his own. And right down bad she served him." He licked his thick lips again, and the flattish, light-hued adder-eyes glittered.
It was what you might call a very long day, and it seemed like the sun would never set, for we were both of us in a sweat about Old Dibs, and more than anxious how he had made out. Then sundown came, and dusk, and night itself, and still another long spell for the Kanakas to go to sleep, which it seemed as though they never would.
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