Says I to
myself, NOW he'll throw up the sponge--there ain't no more use. Well,
did he? A body can't hardly believe it, but he didn't. I reckon he
thought he'd keep the thing up till he tired them people out, so they'd
thin out, and him and the duke could break loose and get away. Anyway,
he set there, and pretty soon he begun to smile, and says:
"Mf! It's a VERY tough question, AIN'T it! YES, sir, I k'n tell you
what's tattooed on his breast. It's jest a small, thin, blue arrow
--that's what it is; and if you don't look clost, you can't see it. NOW
what do you say--hey?"
Well, I never see anything like that old blister for clean out-and-out
cheek.
The new old gentleman turns brisk towards Ab Turner and his pard, and his
eye lights up like he judged he'd got the king THIS time, and says:
"There--you've heard what he said! Was there any such mark on Peter
Wilks' breast?"
Both of them spoke up and says:
"We didn't see no such mark."
"Good!" says the old gentleman. "Now, what you DID see on his breast was
a small dim P, and a B (which is an initial he dropped when he was
young), and a W, with dashes between them, so: P--B--W"--and he marked
them that way on a piece of paper. "Come, ain't that what you saw?"
Both of them spoke up again, and says:
"No, we DIDN'T.
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