"I'm not very tired." "You hold your tongue," was the response I had in an angry tone.

"You be ready to give up your oar when he comes.

Now, then, up with you, or I'll do it again." Bob Chowne groaned piteously and crawled forward.
"Why can't you let a fellow die quietly ?" he sobbed out, and then he crept over the seat where Bigley was rowing, so as to get to where I still tugged at my oar in hot indignation.
"Die, eh ?" shouted Bigley with a forced laugh.

"Yes, you'd better.
Leave us to do all the pulling, would you?
Oh, no, you don't.

I'm biggest and I'll make you pull." "Oh--oh--oh!" whimpered Bob.