By George! On a hot Christmas like this is
goin' to be, I'd be the jolliest Jack on the ocean if I could git
at that canned fruit.' `Well, there's a way,' says Andy,
`that we might git some of 'em. A part of the cargo of this ship
is stuff far blastin' rocks--ca'tridges, 'lectric bat'ries, an'
that sort of thing; an' there's a man aboard who's goin' out to
take charge of 'em. I've been talkin' to this bat'ry man, an'
I've made up my mind it'll be easy enough to lower a little
ca'tridge down among our cargo an' blow out a part of it.' `What
'u'd be the good of it,' says I, `blowed into chips?' `It might
smash some,' says he, `but others would be only loosened, an'
they'd float up to the top, where we could git 'em, specially
them as was packed with pies, which must be pretty light.' `Git
out, Andy,' says I, `with all that stuff!' An' he got out.
"But the idees he'd put into my head didn't git out, an' as I
laid on my back on the deck, lookin' up at the stars, they
sometimes seemed to put themselves into the shape of a little
house, with a little woman cookin' at the kitchin fire, an' a
little schooner layin' at anchor just off shore. An' then ag'in
they'd hump themselves up till they looked like a lot of new tin
cans with their tops off, an' all kinds of good things to eat
inside, specially canned peaches--the big white kind, soft an'
cool, each one split in half, with a holler in the middle filled
with juice. By George, sir! the very thought of a tin can like
that made me beat my heels ag'in the deck.
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