"Those verses?" said I, holding on with all ten fingers; for we were rolling as much as ever; and now the black sea rose under us on one side, and now on the other; but Clunie had straddled the spar, and he rode it like a rocking-horse, without holding on at all. "Those verses," he repeated. "At least, that's one of them. I should have said there was a brace of crows." "Well, as to the verses," said I, "you were hardly a loser. Our magazine, as you may know, died a natural death the very next week." "Of course it did," said Clunie, with an air of satisfaction which I found encouraging. "You refused my poem, so, of course, the thing fizzled out. What else could you expect? But I tell you I have a second bone to pick with you. And you'll find it the worst of the two--for you!" "I wonder what that is," said I, in a mystified tone, thinking to humour him still more. "I'll tell you," said he. "Just shunt a bit further along the yard." "I shall be over in a minute," I cried, as he forced me and followed me with the naked carver. "I know you will," he replied, "but not till I've done with you. To come to that second bone. You had a concert to-night, and you didn't ask me to do anything!" My teeth chattered. We had never thought of him. I protested, and truly, that the fault was not mine alone; but he cut me short. "How many concerts have you had without asking me to perform--me, the only man of you worth listening to--me, the star o' the ship? Tell me that, Brother John!" "I hardly know." "Count, then!" "I think about six." "Curse your thinking! Make sure." I counted with my clutching fingers. "Seven," I said at length. "Are ye sure?" "Yes, perfectly." "Then take that--and that--and that--and that!" And he pricked me in seven places with his infernal knife, holding it to my throat between the stabs in case I should sing out. "Now," he said, "I'm going to give you a concert all to yourself. You're going to hear the star of the _Grasmere_ free of charge. But get you along to the point of the spar first; then you'll be all ready. What, you won't? Ah, I thought that'd make you!" I had obeyed him. He had followed me. And now the knife was back in his mouth--the blood had caked upon his beard--and the melodeon was between his hands. He played me the "Dead March." I should not have known it, for I was past listening, but the horrid grin in his mad eyes showed me that he was doing something clever, and then I discovered what. I was now past everything but holding on and watching my man, which, as I have since thought, was better than looking down. He was wearing his beloved jersey, and he had it the right way on. Upon his legs were a pair of thick worsted drawers; but his feet were naked, and his head was bare. It was his head I watched. His hair had been cropped very close. And the stars swam round and round it as we rose and fell.