Joe. Because there is a maiden there, of course, and dogs abound. But I’ll land (rubbing his hands excitedly). I’ll attack the fort. “Let dogs delight,” and so forth.
Ned. I’m curious to hear more of this isle of the sea.
Joe. Listen, then, and I’ll tell you a true story: only it hasn’t any end to it yet. But I’ll make an end (earnestly),—I’m resolved upon that,—unless an earthquake swallows it up.
Ned. Swallows up the end!
Joe. The island.
Ned. Can’t you explain? (In a pet.)
Joe. Oh, yes! Explain?—certainly. Now hark. In the middle of the sea—that is, off in the harbor—stands a lonely isle; and on that isle stands a hut; and in that hut dwells a stern old fisherman; and that stern old fisherman owns a fair daughter; and, on account of the island being flooded with admirers, he has defended it with dogs, manned it with dogs.
Ned. Really! Now that isn’t quite fair in the old gentleman.
Joe. Fair? Of course it isn’t! But I’ve got a plan. I’ll land: I certainly will, if every dog had as many heads as—now, what was that dog’s name that barked down in that dark place?—no matter; and if every head had as many mouths, I’ll land. “Faint heart never won fair lady.”
Ned. But what if they all fly at you?