“Well,” said Augusta; “it’s a queer sort of message; but I’ll try.”  Accordingly, taking little Dick by the hand, she went across to where the two sailors were sitting outside their hut, and putting on her sweetest smile, first of all asked Mr. Bill if he would mind doing a little tattooing for her.  To this Mr. Bill, finding time hang heavy upon his hands, and wishing to be kept out of the temptation of the rum-cask, graciously assented, saying that he had seen some sharp fish-bones lying about which would be the very thing, though he shook his head at the idea of using gunpowder as the medium.  He said it would not do at all well, and then, as though suddenly seized by an inspiration, started off down to the shore.

Then Augusta, as gently and nicely as she could, approached the question with Johnnie, who was sitting with his back against the hut, his battered countenance wearing a peculiarly ill-favored expression, probably owing to the fact that he was suffering from severe pain in his head, as a result of the debauch of the previous night.

Slowly and with great difficulty, for his understanding was none of the clearest, she explained to him what was required; and that it was suggested that he should provide the necessary corpus vile upon which it was proposed that the experiment should be made.  When at last he understood what it was asked that he should do, Johnnie’s countenance was a sight to see, and his language was more striking than correct.  The upshot of it was, however, that he would see Mr. Meeson collectively, and Mr. Meeson’s various members separately, especially his eyes, somewhere first.

Augusta retreated till his wrath had spent itself, and then once more returned to the charge.

She was sure, she said, that Mr. Johnnie would not mind witnessing the document, if anybody else could be found to submit to the pain of the tattooing.  All that would be necessary would be for him to touch the hand of the operator while his (Johnnie’s) name was tattooed as witness to the will.  “Well,” he said, “I don’t know how as I mind doing that, since it’s you as asked me, Miss, and not the d——­d old hulks of a Meeson.  I would not lift a finger to save him from ’ell Miss, and that’s a fact!”

“Then that is a promise, Mr. Johnnie?” said Augusta, sweetly ignoring the garnishing with which the promise was adorned; and on Mr. Johnnie stating that he looked at it in that light, she returned to Mr. Meeson.  On her way she met Bill, carrying in his hands a loathsome-looking fish, with long feelers and a head like a parrot, in short, a cuttle-fish.

“Now, here’s luck, Miss,” said Bill, exultingly; “I saw this gentleman lying down on the beach there this morning.  He’s a cuttle, that’s what he is; and I’ll have his ink-bag out of him in a brace of shakes; just the ticket for tattooing, Miss, as good as the best Indian-ink—­gunpowder is a fool to it.”

By this time they had reached Mr. Meeson, and here the whole matter, including Johnnie’s obstinate refusal to be tattooed was explained to Bill.