I've more sinse an' wisdom in th' back iv me thumb thin
all th' heroes in th' wurruld. That's why I ain't a hero. If Hobson
had intilligence, he'd be wurrukin' in th' post-office; an', if anny
ol' hin thried to kiss him, he'd call f'r th' polis. Bein' young an'
foolish, whin me frind Sampson says, 'Is there anny man here that 'll
take this ol' coal barge in beyant an' sink it, an' save us th'
throuble iv dhrownin' on our way home?' Loot Hobson says, says he:
'Here I am, Cap,' says he. 'I'll take it in,' he says, 'an' seal up
th' hated Castiles,' he says, 'so that they can niver get out,' he
says. 'But,' he says, 'I'll lave a hole f'r thim to get out whin they
want to get out,' he says. An' he tuk some other la-ads,--I f'rget
their names,--they wasn't heroes, annyhow, but was wurrukin' be th'
day; an' he wint in in his undherclothes, so's not to spoil his suit,
an' th' Castiles hurled death an' desthruction on him. An' it niver
touched him no more thin it did anny wan else; an' thin they riscued
him fr'm himsilf, an' locked him up in th' polis station an' fed him
th' best they knew how.
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