“Cap’en,” in a deep hoarse whisper.
“Yes,” said Mr Perch, keeping time with his head.
“Cuttle.”
“Oh!” said Mr Perch, in the same tone, for he caught it, and couldn’t help it; the Captain, in his diplomacy, was so impressive. “I’ll see if he’s disengaged now. I don’t know. Perhaps he may be for a minute.”
“Ay, ay, my lad, I won’t detain him longer than a minute,” said the Captain, nodding with all the weighty importance that he felt within him. Perch, soon returning, said, “Will Captain Cuttle walk this way?”
Mr Carker the Manager, standing on the hearth-rug before the empty fireplace, which was ornamented with a castellated sheet of brown paper, looked at the Captain as he came in, with no very special encouragement.
“Mr Carker?” said Captain Cuttle.
“I believe so,” said Mr Carker, showing all his teeth.
The Captain liked his answering with a smile; it looked pleasant. “You see,” began the Captain, rolling his eyes slowly round the little room, and taking in as much of it as his shirt-collar permitted; “I’m a seafaring man myself, Mr Carker, and Wal”r, as is on your books here, is almost a son of mine.”
“Walter Gay?” said Mr Carker, showing all his teeth again.