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“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?”

“Do you think Jimmy did?” says Bill, screwing up his nose at me. “That little varmint is walking about worth six ‘undered quid. Now you keep your mouth shut and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Then I see Bill’s game. “All right, I’ll keep quiet for the sake of my half,” I says, looking at ‘im.

I thought he’d ha’ choked, and the langwidge ‘e see fit to use was a’most as much as I could answer.

“Very well, then,” ‘e says, at last, “halves it is. It ain’t robbery becos it belongs to nobody, and it ain’t the boy’s becos ‘e was told to throw it overboard.”

They buried pore old Thomas next morning, and arter it was all over Bill put ‘is ‘and on the boy’s shoulder as they walked for’ard and ‘e says, “Poor old Thomas ‘as gone to look for ‘is money,” he says; “wonder whether ‘e’ll find it! Was it a big bundle, Jimmy?”

“No,” says the boy, shaking ‘is ‘ead. “They was six ‘undered pound notes and two sovereigns, and I wrapped the sovereigns up in the notes to make ’em sink. Fancy throwing money away like that, Bill: seems a sin, don’t it?”

Bill didn’t answer ‘im, and that afternoon the other chaps below being asleep we searched ‘is bunk through and through without any luck, and at last Bill sat down and swore ‘e must ha’ got it about ‘im.

We waited till night, and when everybody was snoring ‘ard we went over to the boy’s bunk and went all through ‘is pockets and felt the linings, and then we went back to our side and Bill said wot ‘e thought about Jimmy in whispers.

“He must ha’ got it tied round ‘is waist next to ‘is skin, like Thomas ‘ad,” I says.

We stood there in the dark whispering, and then Bill couldn’t stand it any longer, and ‘e went over on tiptoe to the bunk ag’in. He was tremblin’ with excitement and I wasn’t much better, when all of a sudden the cook sat up in ‘is bunk with a dreadful laughing scream and called out that somebody was ticklin’ ‘im.

I got into my bunk and Bill got into ‘is, and we lay there listening while the cook, who was a terrible ticklish man, leaned out of ‘is bunk and said wot ‘e’d do if it ‘appened ag’in.

“Go to sleep,” says Walter Jones; “you’re dreamin’. Who d’you think would want to tickle you?”

“I tell you,” says the cook, “somebody come over and tickled me with a ‘and the size of a leg o’ mutton. I feel creepy all over.”