Commodore Junk — page 137: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

130 COMMODORE JUNK. to pick it up again as he shook his hand. “It’s gone right through,” he continued, as he gazed at a bead of blood oozing from the back of his hand, and another on the other side in the centre of his palm. “I wish I knew the divil who fired that, It feels like one of the overseer’s games.” « Anyone else hit?” said AbeL “Jack!” “Tt’s nothing—a scratch,” said Jack, rowing away with all his might, as the blood began to trickle down from a scored place upon his forehead. ‘‘Go on rowing.” ‘Bad luck to’em! There’s so many shot in a charge; it gives “em such a chance,” grumbled Dinny. “ But niver mind, Masther Jack. It'll bea bit of a shmart; but losing a dhrop o’ blood won’t hurt ye.” Jack nodded, and tugged away rapidly, reducing the distance between them and the cutter; but they could not get farther from the firing party, who kept up a furious fusillade as they followed along round the side of the little bay, the pellets whistling by the fugitives, and more than one finding 4 home. ‘‘Haix, and ye’ve got the best place there, Bart, me lad,” cried Dinny, merrily. “Shall I come and howlt him while you take a change!” ‘Look here!” growled Bart, as another vclley was fired at them, and the shot came hurtling round; “it’s no good now. Are you going to give in?” The sailor looked from one to the other as he lay, with his head in the water at the bottom of the boat. “ Well, this here ar’nt cheerful,” he said. ‘You're beat. Why don’t you give in?” “Ts it weazand slitting?” he said. ‘Snickersnee ?” “Get out!” cried Dinny. “ Did they cut mine?” “ Yours, you deserter!” said the sailor, contemptuously. ‘¢ As much a deserter as you are, Dick Dullock. Sure, and Comichbooksneo