"Jim!" The new-comer recognized him. "What's the matter?"

"Wot's the matter? Oh, nothink at all. It jest 'appens as I do little
things like this for my 'ealth. Wot's the matter, you bloomin' idjit?
Wot's the matter, eh? Cast me loose or I'll show you wot! 'Urry up, or
I'll 'olystone the decks with you!"

"Huh!" he added, as the other went to work with his sheath-knife. "Wot's
the matter? I want to know. Jes' tell me that, will you, wot's the
matter? Hey?"

Kent was quite dead when they rolled him over. The gun, an
old-fashioned, heavy-weighted muzzle-loader, lay near him. Steel and
wood had parted company. Near the butt of the right-hand barrel, with
lips pressed outward, gaped a fissure several inches in length. The
sailor picked it up, curiously. A glittering stream of yellow dust ran
out through the crack. The facts of the case dawned upon Jim Cardegee.

"Strike me standin'!" he roared; "'ere's a go! 'Ere's 'is bloomin' dust!
Gawd blime me, an' you, too, Charley, if you don't run an' get the dish-
pan!"




JAN, THE UNREPENTANT


"For there's never a law of God or man