“The boy’s right, Gamans.”
“I think it will do no harm if I do it for you, as you have written your name in full,” I suggested.
“Go ahead, then.”
Then Captain Gates repeated our captain’s performance, and the last-named deliberately folded up the paper and put it in his pocket. “Where do I come in, Gamans? How can you keep that paper when I ain’t got none?”
“I’ll keep it for you; I’m honest.”
The two men had been very friendly that evening, and a bottle and two empty glasses in sight justified at least the inference of conviviality. It looked for the first time like a clash, when I modestly intimated that a copy might be made and executed like the original. Consent was given, and the copy was made and signed with the same fuss which attended the execution of the original.
Serenity restored, Captain Gates said, “I’ll tell you where I’ve got you, Gamans. It’s in the long distance you rowed from the time you struck the whale and lost him until you reached our boat.”
“And I’ll tell you where I’ve got you, Gates. When our boats got up to the whale, your mate hadn’t used the lance, and the whale hadn’t yet rolled over.”
A glance from Captain Gamans told me that I was dismissed. I was glad to get forward where the visiting crew were. They were giving our men the news from home.
When one of them caught sight of me, he blurted out, “Hullo, Tom Haggass, the last time I saw you, you were raidin’ my father’s orchard.”