Most of all, Hook was saying passionately, I want their captain,
Peter Pan. Twas he cut off my arm. He brandished the hook
threateningly. I ve waited long to shake his hand with this. Oh, I ll
tear him!
And yet, said Smee, I have often heard you say that hook was worth a
score of hands, for combing the hair and other homely uses.
Ay, the captain answered, if I was a mother I would pray to have my
children born with this instead of that, and he cast a look of pride
upon his iron hand and one of scorn upon the other. Then again he
frowned.
Peter flung my arm, he said, wincing, to a crocodile that happened
to be passing by.
I have often, said Smee, noticed your strange dread of crocodiles.
Not of crocodiles, Hook corrected him, but of that one crocodile.
He lowered his voice. It liked my arm so much, Smee, that it has
followed me ever since, from sea to sea and from land to land, licking
its lips for the rest of me.
In a way, said Smee, it s sort of a compliment.
I want no such compliments, Hook barked petulantly. I want Peter
Pan, who first gave the brute its taste for me.
He sat down on a large mushroom, and now there was a quiver in his
voice. Smee, he said huskily, that crocodile would have had me
before this, but by a lucky chance it swallowed a clock which goes tick
tick inside it, and so before it can reach me I hear the tick and
bolt. He laughed, but in a hollow way.
Some day, said Smee, the clock will run down, and then he ll get
you.
Hook wetted his dry lips. Ay, he said, that s the fear that haunts
me.
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