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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Tale Of The Forecastle"

" He walked unsteady but resolute to
the door. "So I will," yelped Donkin, popping out behind him. "So I
will--s'elp me... a pound... three bob they chawrge." Davis flung the
door open. "You will pay my price... in fine weather," he shouted over
his shoulder. One of the men unbuttoned his wet coat rapidly, threw it
at his head. "Here, Taffy--take that, you thief!" "Thank you!" he cried
from the darkness above the swish of rolling water. He could be heard
splashing; a sea carme on board with a thump. "He's got his bath
already," remarked a grim shellback. "Aye, aye!" grunted others. Then,
after a long silence, Wamibo made strange noises. "Hallo, what's up with
you?" said some one grumpily. "He says he would have gone for Davy,"
explained Archie, who was the Finn's interpreter generally. "I believe
him!" cried voices.... "Never mind, Dutchy... You'll do, muddle-head....
Your turn will come soon enough... You don't know when ye're well off."
They ceased, and all together turned their faces to the door. Singleton
stepped in, advanced two paces, and stood swaying slightly. The sea
hissed, flowed roaring past the bows, and the forecastle trembled, full
of deep murmurs; the lamp flared, swinging like a pendulum.


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