"Fat lot o' good they are, for skippers, and planters, and gory exiles! Eh, what?
Be-george, I'll write him a chit! _I'll_ tell him! Plays be damned; we want more stories!" Red and savage, he hurled the book fluttering into the sea, then swore in consternation.
"Oh, I say!" he wailed.

"Fish her out! I've not finished her.

My intention was, ye know, to fling the bloomin' cigar!" Heywood, laughing, rescued the volume on a long bamboo.
"Just came out on the look-see, captain," he called up.

"Can't board you.

Plague ashore." "Plague be 'anged!" scoffed the little captain.