"The on'y thing I can see," says the boy, one day, "is for Bill to 'ave a
touch of sunstroke as 'e's leaving the wheel one day, tumble 'ead-first
down the companion-way, and injure 'isself so severely that 'e can't be
moved. Then they'll put 'im in a cabin down aft, and p'raps I'll 'ave to
go and nurse 'im. Anyway, he'll be down there."

"It's a very good idea, Bill," I says.

"Ho," says Bill, looking at me as if 'e would eat me. "Why don't you do
it, then?"

"I'd sooner you did it, Bill," says the boy; "still, I don't mind which
it is. Why not toss up for it?"

"Get away," says Bill. "Get away afore I do something you won't like,
you blood-thirsty little murderer."

"I've got a plan myself," he says, in a low voice, after the boy 'ad
'opped off, "and if I can't think of nothing better I'll try it, and
mind, not a word to the boy."

He didn't think o' nothing better, and one night just as we was making
the Channel 'e tried 'is plan. He was in the second mate's watch, and
by-and-by 'e leans over the wheel and says to 'im in a low voice, "This
is my last v'y'ge, sir."

"Oh," says the second mate, who was a man as didn't mind talking to a man
before the mast. "How's that?"

"I've got a berth ashore, sir," says Bill, "and I wanted to ask a favour,