"You're the hoight av impidence, an' I'm persuaded ye'll corrupt our supercargo in a week." "His name's Harvey," said Dan, waving two strangely shaped knives, "an' he'll be worth five of any Sou' Boston clam-digger 'fore long." He laid the knives tastefully on the table, cocked his head on one side, and admired the effect.
"I think it's forty-two," said a small voice overside, and there was a roar of laughter as another voice answered, "Then my luck's turned fer onct, 'caze I'm forty-five, though I be stung outer all shape." "Forty-two or forty-five.

I've lost count," the small voice said.
"It's Penn an' Uncle Salters caountin' catch.

This beats the circus any day," said Dan.

"Jest look at 'em!" "Come in--come in!" roared Long Jack.

"It's wet out yondher, children." "Forty-two, ye said." This was Uncle Salters.
"I'll count again, then," the voice replied meekly.