'Curse you, Puddock, why--what are you going back for? you can't do it.'
'Lend a hand,' bawled Puddock, in extremity. 'I say, help, seize the
rope; I say, Cluffe, quick, Sir, my arms are breaking.'
There was no exaggeration in this--there seldom was in any thing Puddock
said; and the turn of the boat had twisted his arms like the strands of
a rope.
'Hold on, Puddock, curse you, I'm comin',' roared Cluffe, quite alive to
the situation. 'If you let go, I'm _diddled_ but I'll shoot you.'
'Catch the rope, I thay, Thir, or 'tith all over!'
Cluffe, who had only known that he was slowly spinning round, and that
Puddock was going to commit him to the waves, made a vehement exertion
to catch the rope, but it was out of reach, and the boat rocked so
suddenly from his rising, that he sat down by mistake again, with a
violent plump that made his teeth gnash, in his own place; and the shock
and his alarm stimulated his anger.
'Hold on, Sir; hold on, you little devil, I say, one minute,
here--hold--hollo!'
While Cluffe was shouting these words, and scrambling forward, Puddock
was crying--
'Curth it, Cluffe, quick--oh! hang it, I can't thtand it--bleth my
_thoul_!
And Puddock let go, and the boat and its precious freightage, with a
horrid whisk and a sweep, commenced its seaward career in the dark.
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