Commodore Junk — page 178: what you’re looking at

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

A HORRIBLE TASK. 171 legs, ‘ Lave me alone, ye spalpeen!’ why, it’s too much for a boy.” “ Are you coming, Dinny?” cried Bart, as he approached the lantern. ‘‘ Bedad, and he’ll think me a’coward if I don’t go,” said Dinny, panting. “Sure, and what are ye thrimbling about ? D’ye call yourselves legs, and go shakking ‘undher a boy like that? Faix, I’m ashamed of ye! Go along, do; and it isn’t me that’s freckened, but me legs!” He mastered his dread and ran swiftly after Bart, who had once more reached the sandy trench. “T thought you’d come, Dinny,” said. Bart. ‘ You're not the lad to leave a mate in the lurch.” “'Thrue for ye, me boy ; but are we to tak’ him back in the boat ?” ‘Yes, it’s the captain’s orders.” “ Howly Pater, but it’s dreadful work !” said Dinny. “Then let’s get it done,” said Bart, stolidly ; and he drew off the lid of the rough case. ‘Come, lad, let’s lift the poor fellow quickly into his coffin, and act like men.” “Bud didn’t ye fale him move, Bart, lad?” whispered Dinny. “No. What foolery!” growled Bart. “ Fancy!” “Divil a bit, sor! I just touched him,” whispered Dinny ; “and he worked his toes about, and thin give quite a kick.” “Bah!” ejaculated Bart. “ Bedad, but he did!” whispered Dinny. ‘ Wait a minute. The poor boy don’t like it, perhaps. If we only had Father M‘Fadden here!” “What are you going to do?” “Shpake to him,” said Dinny, trembling; “ and the blessed saints stand bechuckst me and harm!” he muttered, fervently. “ Abel, me lad—captin, don’t ye want to go%” COMnicGloOol<s