―He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is his guncase?

―A woful lunatic, Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?

―I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark with a man I don’t know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning. I’m not a hero, however. If he stays on here I am off.

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razor blade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

―Scutter, he cried thickly.

He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen’s upper pocket, said:

―Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.