"
"No," said Augusta, with a sudden flush, "there is not. Mr. Eustace
Meeson was once very kind to me, and rather than he should lose the
chance of getting what he ought to have, I--I will be tattooed."
"Well, bust me!" said Bill, with enthusiasm, "bust me! if you ain't a
good-plucked one for a female woman; and if I was that there young man I
should make bold to tell you so."
"Yes," said Mr. Meeson, "that is an excellent idea. You are young and
strong, and as there is lots of food here, I dare say that you will take
a long time to die. You might even live for some months. Let us begin at
once. I feel dreadfully weak. I don't think that I can live through the
night, and if I know that I have done all I can to make sure that Eustace
gets his own, perhaps dying will be a little easier!"
CHAPTER X.
THE LAST OF MR. MEESON.
Augusta turned from the old man with a gesture of impatience not unmixed
with disgust. His selfishness was of an order that revolted her.
"I suppose," she said sharply to Bill, "that I must have this will
tattooed upon my shoulders."
"Yes, Miss; that's it," said Bill. "You see, Miss, one wants space for a
doccymint. If it were a ship or a flag, now, or a fancy pictur of your
young man, I might manage it on your arm, but there must be breadth for a
legal doccymint, more especially as I should like to make a good job of
it while I is about it.
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