right. Look!"

"I 'ave looked," ses Bill, with his 'ead still under the clothes.

"We was always pals, Bill, you and me," ses Silas; "many a v'y'ge 'ave we
had together, mate, and now I'm a-laying at the bottom of the Pacific
Ocean, and you are snug and 'appy in your own warm bed. I 'ad to come to
see you, according to promise, and over and above that, since I was
drowned my eyes 'ave been opened. Bill, you're drinking yourself to
death!"

"I--I--didn't know it," ses Bill, shaking all over. "I'll knock it--off
a bit, and--thank you--for--w-w-warning me. G-G-Good-by."

"You'll knock it off altogether," ses Silas Winch, in a awful voice.
"You're not to touch another drop of beer, wine, or spirits as long as
you live. D'ye hear me?"

"Not--not as medicine?" ses Bill, holding the clothes up a bit so as to
be more distinct.

"Not as anything," ses Silas; "not even over Christmas pudding. Raise
your right arm above your 'ead and swear by the ghost of pore Silas
Winch, as is laying at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, that you won't
touch another drop."

Bill Burtenshaw put 'is arm up and swore it.

Then 'e took 'is arm in agin and lay there wondering wot was going to
'appen next.