But I say, sir, what a--_murder_!--what a wrench I give my shoulder." "How ?" "Hitting one o' them pudding-headed Teapots, sir.

Didn't hurt my knuckles, because his head was soft.

Just like punching a bladder o' lard, but the weight on him wrenched the jynte." "Wait till we get on board," I said, "and Mr Price will soon put you right." "Bah! not him, sir," said the man scornfully.

"I shouldn't think o' going to a doctor for nothing less than losing my head.

It'll soon get right.