The mate hastened to assist Tom on board, but the captain was before him.
“With all due deference to you, Mr. Pebbles,” he said, “I’m going to do everything for our guest with my own hands. If my wife was on board I’d turn him over to her. As she ain’t, I does the honours. Take my arm, young man. You ain’t so strong as you think. You’re as shaky as an old chimney-pot.”
“Thank you,” said Tom; “you really are good.”
“I’d do the same for a nigger, sirr, if he were as shaky as you; and if my wife were on board, she’d do more. Now, sit down there; I’m not going to pester you with any extra attentions. Whatever you needs you hollers for.”
“I don’t think,” said Tom, “I’ll have to holler for anything. This chair is delightful, and the awning is a happy thought.”
“We don’t sail before to-morrow morning, cause I’ve more stores to get off. And now, as we don’t dine for an hour yet, suppose we have a drink. What shall it be—wine, old rye, a cup o’ coffee, or a cock-tail?”
“I’d prefer coffee, I think; but isn’t it rather hot?”
“O, bless your innocence, we’ll have it iced! Ginger Brandy, where are you?”
A bullet-headed nigger boy, dressed in white calico, with face and calves as black as pitch, rushed up.
“Heeh I is, sah,” he said.