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 Cabins, to start with—They don’ show, But if there wa’n’t none, I should know. Let’s see.... them there match-boxes! Quick, Chuck out the matches....There!.... one row To port: now, starboard—that’s the trick! Next thing, a deck—That cardboard lid:— Rule on some lines, to mean the planks.... An’ there’s your inside full, an’ hid! ....Two skewers for the masts....some string For riggin’.... There! That everythin’?

—Blest fool! you’ve give her that, inside, ’Ll work her spite o’ wind an’ tide, Yet never thought to put no trace O’ special power in her face— Funnel, she wants! Go slow, now....stop.... Got it! Mother’s umbrella-top!— Thank You! Ain’t got no paint, worse luck! Black hull, red funnel.... ’F I could pluck The red shine off the rata-bloom, An’ drain the bitter bad black stuff Out o’ my heart, I’d have enough.... Would Micky swap my Sunday tweeds? ’Tisn’t so very much she needs; Two must-be coats and one to spare, Kind o’ pomatum to her hair.... She’d lick their S.S. “Wakatu.” Somehow I’ll get it, that I swear. Jericho!