"A life-buoy of a coffin!" cried Starbuck, starting.
"Rather queer, that, I should say," said Stubb.
"It will make a good enough one," said Flask, "the carpenter here can
arrange it easily."
"Bring it up; there's nothing else for it," said Starbuck,
after a melancholy pause. "Rig it, carpenter; do not look at me so--
the coffin, I mean. Dost thou hear me? Rig it."
"And shall I nail down the lid, sir?" moving his hand as with a hammer.
"Aye."
"And shall I caulk the seams, sir?" moving his hand as
with a caulking-iron.
"Aye."
"And shall I then pay over the same with pitch, sir?" moving his hand
as with a pitch-pot.
Away! What possesses thee to this? Make a life-buoy of the coffin,
and no more.--Mr. Stubb, Mr. Flask, come forward with me."
"He goes off in a huff. The whole he can endure; at the parts
he baulks. Now I don't like this. I make a leg for Captain Ahab,
and he wears it like a gentleman; but I make a bandbox for Queequeg,
and he won't put his head into it. Are all my pains to go for nothing
with that coffin? And now I'm ordered to make a life-buoy of it.
It's like turning an old coat; going to bring the flesh on
the other side now. I don't like this cobbling sort of business--
I don't like it at all; it's undignified; it's not my place.
Pages:
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842