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Jacobs, W. W., 1863-1943

"Dirty Work Deep Waters, Part 11."

Then I crept back on to the
jetty, and arter listening by the Peewit to make sure that they was all
asleep, I went back and climbed down the ladder.
It was colder than ever. The cold seemed to get into my bones, but I
made up my mind to 'ave that twelve quid if I died for it. I trod round
and round the place where I 'ad seen that purse chucked in until I was
tired, and the rubbish I picked up by mistake you wouldn't believe.
I suppose I 'ad been in there arf an hour, and I was standing up with my
teeth clenched to keep them from chattering, when I 'appened to look
round and see something like a white ball coming down the ladder. My
'art seemed to stand still for a moment, and then it began to beat as
though it would burst. The white thing came down lower and lower, and
then all of a sudden it stood in the mud and said, "Ow!"
"Who is it?" I ses. "Who are you?" "Halloa, Bill!" it ses. "Ain't it
perishing cold?"
It was the voice o' Cap'n Fogg, and if ever I wanted to kill a fellow-
creetur, I wanted to then.
"'Ave you been in long, Bill?" he ses.


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