And by that time, Mr. Dodd, it's ancient history."
"That's what they call Shanghaiing, isn't it?" I asked.
"I thought it belonged to the dime novel."
"O, dime novels are right enough," returned the
captain. "Nothing wrong with the dime novel, only that
things happen thicker than they do in life, and the
practical seamanship is off colour."
"So we can keep the business to ourselves," I mused.
"There's one other person that might blab," said the
captain. "Though I don't believe she has anything left
to tell."
"And who is SHE?" I asked.
"The old girl there," he answered, pointing to the
wreck; "I know there's nothing in her; but somehow I'm
afraid of some one else--it's the last thing you'd
expect, so it's just the first that'll happen--some one
dropping into this God-forgotten island where nobody
drops in, waltzing into that wreck that we've grown old
with searching, stooping straight down, and picking
right up the very thing that tells the story. What's
that to me? you may ask, and why am I gone Soft Tommy
on this Museum of Crooks? They've smashed up you and
Mr.
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