“ Cut me a junk o' that,” says he, “for I haven't no knife and hardly strength enough, so be as I had. Ah, Jim, Jim, I reckon I've missed stays! Cut me a quid, as'll likely be the last, lad, for I'm for my long home, and no mistake.”
“ Well,” said I, “I'll cut you some tobacco, but if I was you and thought myself so badly, I would go to my prayers like a Christian man.”
“ Why?” said he. “Now, you tell me why.”
“ Why?” I cried. “You were asking me just now about the dead. You've broken your trust; you've lived in sin and lies and blood; there's a man you killed lying at your feet this moment, and you ask me why! For God's mercy, Mr. Hands, that's why.”
I spoke with a little heat, thinking of the b****y dirk he had hidden in his pocket and designed, in his ill thoughts, to end me wit
