"Here it is!" cries another, poking a specimen of current Scripture into the pseudo parson's hands.
"Miss Betsy and Dr. Mutandis, stand up," says Capt. Tiller, assuming quite the air and grace of the parson.
Bridesmaids, grooms, &c., were soon arranged in due order, and the interesting ceremony of joining hands and hearts in one happy bond of mutual and indissoluble (slightly, sometimes!) love and obedience was progressing.
"Cap'n Figgles, you're wanted," says one, interrupting the old man, now busy concocting his grog for all hands.
"Go to blazes, you son of a sea cook!" cries the old gentleman; "haven't you common decency to see when a man's engaged in a calculation he oughtn't to be disturbed, eh?"
"But Betsy's going to be married!" insists the disturber, who, in fact, was half-seas over in infatuation with Miss Betsy, and had had a slight inkling of a fact that by the law of the State anybody could marry a couple, and the marriage would be as obligatory upon the parties as though performed by the identical legal authorities to whom young folks "in a bad way" are in the habit of appealing for relief.
"Let 'em heave ahead, you marine!" cries Capt. Figgles.
"Are you really willing to allow it?" continues the swain.
"Me willing? It's Betsy's affair; let her keep the lookout," said the old gent.
"But don't you know, Cap'n——"