“Weather,” echoed Bill, grinning good-humoredly. “Well, look out for a rough gale; pretty rough and pretty long. Yes, there’ll be an awful blow—a hurricane—a typhoon!” he added, remarking Steve’s dissatisfied looks, and mistaking their cause. “Why, who knows but that there’ll be a zephyr that’ll swoop the hold clean out of a vessel and carry a door-knob clean over a flag staff.”
Stephen appeared more dissatisfied than ever; and the jocose sailor, who wished to please him, was about to give a startling account of what the weather might be; but more than satisfied, Steve thanked him, and returned to the expectant five.
“Well, what does he say?” Will demanded.
Stephen dejectedly repeated what the sailor had told him.
George was not in a humor to say, “I told you so!” On the contrary, he was furious against the sailor. He allowed his indignation to boil for a few moments, and then exclaimed, haughtily, “What does that man know about the weather? Why, he doesn’t know any more about it than a caged dromedary. Why, he’s nothing but a lubber—a fresh-water sailor—a stone-boater—a—a—”
“And, besides,” chimed in Marmaduke, “that isn’t the way a genuine sailor talks. He must be some disguised—”
“Yes, of course it isn’t; of course he is;” George broke in. “He is some disguised vagabond, trying to humbug us fellows. Come along, boys; I’m going with you in that punt, through thick and thin, in the teeth of every lubberly sailor, and wishy-washy weather indicator, and high toned thunder-storm, that ever astonished anybody!”
This strikes the key-note to the Sage’s character.
But Stephen was angered. “See here, George,” he exclaimed, “that man is an honest sailor and a decent fellow, and you just let him alone!”