including Skin-the-Goat, who this time stretched over.

Ay, ay, sighed the sailor, looking down on his manly chest. He’s gone too. Ate by sharks after. Ay, ay.

He let go of the skin so that the profile resumed the normal expression of before.

Neat bit of work, one longshoreman said.

And what’s the number for? loafer number two queried.

Eaten alive? a third asked the sailor.

Ay, ay, sighed again the latter personage, more cheerily this time with some sort of a half smile for a brief duration only in the direction of the questioner about the number. Ate. A Greek he was.

And then he added with rather gallowsbird humour considering his alleged end: