Well, well; I don't know what it is,
but the Lord keep me from catching it. He's full of riddles;
I wonder what he goes into the after hold for, every night,
as Dough-Boy tells me he suspects; what's that for, I should
like to know? Who's made appointments with him in the hold?
Ain't that queer, now? But there's no telling, it's the old game--
Here goes for a snooze. Damn me, it's worth a fellow's
while to be born into the world, if only to fall right asleep.
And now that I think of it, that's about the first thing
babies do, and that's a sort of queer, too. Damn me,
but all things are queer, come to think of 'em. But that's
against my principles. Think not, is my eleventh commandment;
and sleep when you can, is my twelfth--So here goes again.
But how's that? didn't he call me a dog? blazes! he called me ten
times a donkey, and piled a lot of jackasses on top of that!
He might as well have kicked me, and done with it.
Maybe he did kick me, and I didn't observe it, I was so taken all
aback with his brow, somehow. It flashed like a bleached bone.
What the devil's the matter with me? I don't stand right on my legs.
Coming afoul of that old man has a sort of turned me wrong side out.
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