"Comes off to-night, Joe," said he, as he descended to the cabin, "an'
it's arf a quid to you if the old gal wins."
"What's the bet?" inquired the mate, looking up from his task of
shredding tobacco.
"Five quid," replied the skipper.
"Well, we ought to do it," said the mate slowly; "'t wont be my fault if
we don't."
"Mine neither," said the skipper. "As a matter o' fact, Joe, I reckon
I've about made sure of it. All's fair in love and war and racing, Joe."
"Ay, ay," said the mate, more slowly than before, as he revolved this
addition to the proverb.
"I just nipped round and saw a chap I used to know named Dibbs," said
the skipper. "Keeps a boarding-house for sailors. Wonderful sharp
little chap he is. Needles ain't nothing to him. There's heaps of
needles, but only one Dibbs. He's going to make old Berrow's chaps as
drunk as lords."
"Does he know 'em?" inquired the mate.
"He knows where to find 'em," said the other. "I told him they'd either
be in the 'Duke's Head' or the 'Town o' Berwick.' But he'd find 'em
wherever they was. Ah, even if they was in a coffee pallis, I b'leeve
that man 'ud find 'em."
"They're steady chaps," objected the mate, but in a weak fashion, being
somewhat staggered by this tribute to Mr. Dibbs' remarkable powers.
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