"There was a wreck there yesterday, I've heard," said he, after we
had gone a few yards, "and an inquest, and, by the tale I heard, a
lot of lies told."
I started. The man did not notice it, but continued--
"Maybe you've heard of it. Well, it's a rum world, and a fine lot of
lies gets told every day, but you don't often get so accomplished a
liar as that chap--what's his name? Blessed if I can tackle it; not
but what it's another lie, I'll wager."
I was listening intently. He continued more to himself than to us--
"An amazing liar, though I wonder what his game was. It beats me;
beats me altogether. The '_James and Elizabeth_,' says he, as large
as life. I take it the fellow couldn't 'a been fooling who brought
the news to Falmouth. Didn't know me from Adam, and was fairly put
about when he saw how I took it, and, says he, ''twas the _James and
Elizabeth_ the chap said, as sure as I stand here.' Boy, do you
happen to know the name of the vessel that ran ashore here, night
afore last?"
I had grown accustomed to being asked this dreadful question, and
therefore answered as bravely as I could.
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