says Walter, with a kind smile; "I could tell
you one you've got."

Thomas shut his eyes at 'im and began to talk pitiful about 'is money and
the 'ard work 'e'd 'ad saving of it. And by-and-by 'e got worse, and
didn't reckernise us, but thought we was a pack o' greedy, drunken
sailormen. He thought Walter Jones was a shark, and told 'im so, and,
try all 'e could, Walter couldn't persuade 'im different.

He died the day arter. In the morning 'e was whimpering about 'is money
ag'in, and angry with Bill when 'e reminded 'im that 'e couldn't take it
with 'im, and 'e made Bill promise that 'e should be buried just as 'e
was. Bill tucked him up arter that, and when 'e felt a canvas belt tied
round the old man's waist 'e began to see wot 'e was driving at.

The weather was dirty that day and there was a bit o' sea running,
consequently all 'ands was on deck, and a boy about sixteen wot used to
'elp the steward down aft was lookin' arter Thomas. Me and Bill just run
down to give a look at the old man in time.

"I am going to take it with me, Bill," says the old man.

"That's right," says Bill.

"My mind's--easy now," says Thomas. "I gave it to Jimmy--to--to--throw
overboard for me."

"Wot?" says Bill, staring.

"That's right, Bill," says the boy. "He told me to. It was a little
packet o' banknotes. He gave me tuppence for doing it."

Old Thomas seemed to be listening. 'Is eyes was open, and 'e looked
artful at Bill to think what a clever thing 'e'd done.

"Nobody's goin'-to spend-my money," 'e says. "Nobody's"

We drew back from 'is bunk and stood staring at 'im. Then Bill turned to
the boy.

"Go and tell the skipper 'e's gone," 'e says, "and mind, for your own
sake, don't tell the skipper or anybody else that you've thrown all that
money overboard."

"Why not?" says Jimmy.

"Becos you'll be locked up for it," says Bill; "you'd no business to do
it. You've been and broke the law. It ought to ha' been left to
somebody."

Jimmy looked scared, and arter 'e was gone I turned to Bill, and I looks
at 'im and I says "What's the little game, Bill?"

"_Game_?" said Bill, snorting at me. "I don't want the pore boy to get
into trouble, do I? Pore little chap. You was young yourself once."

"Yes," I says; "but I'm a bit older now, Bill, and unless you tell me
what your little game is, I shall tell the skipper myself, and the chaps
too. Pore old Thomas told 'im to do it, so where's the boy to blame?"