"Here I am, George," said the intruder, "turned up like a bad penny, an'
glad to see your handsome face again, I can tell you."
In response to this flattering remark George gurgled.
"Why," said the other, with an uneasy laugh, "did you think I was dead,
George? Ha, ha! Feel that!"
He fetched the horrified man a thump in the back, which stopped even his
gurgles.
"That feel like a dead man?" asked the smiter, raising his hand again.
"Feel"--
The mate moved back hastily. "That'll do," said he fiercely; "ghost or
no ghost, don't you hit me like that again."
"A' right, George," said the other, as he meditatively felt the stiff
grey whiskers which framed his red face. "What's the news?"
"The news," said George, who was of slow habits and speech, "is that you
was found last Tuesday week off St. Katherine's Stairs, you was sat on a
Friday week at the Town o' Ramsgate public-house, and buried on Monday
afternoon at Lowestoft."
"Buried?" gasped the other, "sat on? You've been drinking, George."
"An' a pretty penny your funeral cost, I can tell you," continued the
mate. "There's a headstone being made now--'Lived lamented and died
respected,' I think it is, with 'Not lost, but gone before,' at the
bottom."
"Lived respected and died lamented, you mean," growled the old man;
"well, a nice muddle you have made of it between you.
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