We were fain to button up our monkey jackets, and hold to our
lips cups of scalding tea with our half frozen fingers.
But the fare was of the most substantial kind--not only meat
and potatoes, but dumplings; good heavens! dumplings for supper!
One young fellow in a green box coat, addressed himself
to these dumplings in a most direful manner.
"My boy," said the landlord, "you'll have the nightmare
to a dead sartainty."
"Landlord," I whispered, "that aint the harpooneer is it?"
"Oh, no," said he, looking a sort of diabolically funny, "the harpooneer
is a dark complexioned chap. He never eats dumplings, he don't--
he eats nothing but steaks, and he likes 'em rare."
"The devil he does," says I. "Where is that harpooneer?
Is he here?"
"He'll be here afore long," was the answer.
I could not help it, but I began to feel suspicious of this
"dark complexioned" harpooneer. At any rate, I made up my
mind that if it so turned out that we should sleep together,
he must undress and get into bed before I did.
Supper over, the company went back to the bar-room, when,
knowing not what else to do with myself, I resolved to spend
the rest of the evening as a looker on.
Presently a rioting noise was heard without.
Pages:
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42