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Updated: July 18, 2025
You han't forgot the grog, I hope, steward?" "No fear of him: he's a good feller, is the steward, when he's asleep partiklerly. The grog's here all right." "Dinna let Dumsby git haud o't, then," cried Watt. "What! hae ye begood a'ready? Patience, man, patience. Is there ony saut?" "Lots of it, darlin', in the say. Sure this shape must have lost his tail somehow.
Ruby divided his time between the kitchen and lantern, lending a hand in each, but, we fear, interrupting the work more than he advanced it. That day it fell calm, and the sun shone brightly. "We'll have fog to-night," observed Dumsby to Brand, pausing in the operation of polishing a reflector, in which his fat face was mirrored with the most indescribable and dreadful distortions.
Another moment, and a goodly cod of about ten pounds weight was wriggling on the iron hook which Ruby handed up to Dumsby, who mounted with his prize in triumph to the kitchen. From that moment the fish began to "take". While the men were thus busily engaged, a boat was rowing about in the fog, vainly endeavouring to find the rock. It was the boat of two fast friends, Jock Swankie and Davy Spink.
The men hesitated, but did not seem quite disposed to submit without another struggle. "It's a shame to let them take him," cried the smith. "So it is. I vote for a rescue," cried Joe Dumsby. "Hooray! so does I," cried O'Connor, stripping off his waist-coat, and for once in his life agreeing with Joe.
The cheer that followed was a genuine one. "Now for a song, boys," cried one of the men, "and I think the last arrivals are bound to sing first." "Hear, hear! Ruby, lad, you're in for it," said the smith, who sat near his assistant. "What shall I sing?" enquired Ruby. "Oh! let me see," said Joe Dumsby, assuming the air of one who endeavoured to recall something.
"Wot a hobject!" exclaimed Joe Dumsby, a short, thickset, little Englishman, who, having been born and partly bred in London, was rather addicted to what is styled chaffing. "Was you arter a mermaid, shipmate?"
"Now, Longlegs," cried the men who held the boat on the starboard side, as Forsyth got over the side and stood ready to spring, "let's see how good you'll be to-day." He was observed by Joe Dumsby, who had just succeeded in getting into the boat on the port side of the ship, and who always took a lively interest in his tall comrade's proceedings.
The men hesitated, but did not seem quite disposed to submit without another struggle. "It's a shame to let them take him," cried the smith. "So it is. I vote for a rescue," cried Joe Dumsby. "Hooray! so does I," cried O'Connor, stripping off his waistcoat, and for once in his life agreeing with Joe.
"Could you come Beet'oven's symphony on B flat?" "Ah! howld yer tongue, Joe," cried O'Connor, "sure the young man can only sing on the sharp kays; ain't he always sharpin' the tools, not to speak of his appetite?" "You've a blunt way of speaking yourself, friend," said Dumsby, in a tone of reproof.
He thought it wos all over with 'im, and wos in sich a funk that he came down 'ead foremost, and would sartinly 'ave broke 'is neck if 'e 'adn't come slap into my buzzum! I tell 'e it was no joke, for 'e wos fourteen stone if 'e wos an ounce, an' " "Come along, Ruby," said Dove, interrupting; "the sooner we dive too the better, for there's no end to that story when Dumsby get off in full swing.
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