“South South West, but drawing now fast to the Westward,” said old Spunyarn.
And so it was; and it veered round until “South West and by West three-quarters West,” with an angry gust, came down the sky-light, and blowing strongly into our hero’s ear, cried,—
“Oh, you false one!”
“False!” exclaimed Jack. “What! you here, and so angry too? What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter!—do you think I don’t know? What have you been doing over since I was away, comforting yourself during my absence with Nor-westers?”
“Why, you an’t jealous of a Nor-wester, are you?” replied Littlebrain. “I confess, I’m rather partial to them.”
“What! this to my face!—I’ll never come again, without you promise me that you will have nothing to do with them, and never call for one again. Be quick—I cannot stay more than two minutes; for it is hard work now, and we relieve quick—say the word.”
“Well, then,” replied Littlebrain, “you’ve no objection to half-and-half?”
“None in the world; that’s quite another thing, and has nothing to do with the wind.”
“It has, though,” thought Jack, “for it gets a man in the wind; but I won’t tell her so; and,” continued he, “you don’t mind a raw nip, do you?”