.. Why, you're in your shirt! What
have you done?"--"I've put my oilskin and jacket over that half-dead
nayggur--and he says he chokes," said Belfast, complainingly.--"You
wouldn't call me nigger if I wasn't half dead, you Irish beggar!" boomed
James Wait, vigorously.--"You... brrr... You wouldn't be white if you
were ever so well... I will fight you... brrrr... in fine weather...
brrr ... with one hand tied behind my back... brrrrrr..."--"I don't want
your rags--I want air," gasped out the other faintly, as if suddenly
exhausted.
The sprays swept over whistling and pattering. Men disturbed in their
peaceful torpor by the pain of quarrelsome shouts, moaned, muttering
curses. Mr. Baker crawled off a little way to leeward where a water-cask
loomed up big, with something white against it. "Is it you, Podmore?"
asked Mr. Baker, He had to repeat the question twice before the cook
turned, coughing feebly.--"Yes, sir. I've been praying in my mind for
a quick deliverance; for I am prepared for any call.... I------"--"Look
here, cook," interrupted Mr. Baker, "the men are perishing with
cold."--"Cold!" said the cook, mournfully; "they will be warm enough
before long.
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