“Wal, as to settin, I’ll set; but as to singin, I hain’t the time nor the vice. The fact is, I come down on business.”
At this Captain Corbet’s face assumed an expression of deep and dark mystery. He had a stick in his hand about a yard long, rather slender, and somewhat dirty. He now held out this stick, looked at it for a few moments in indescribable solemnity, then closed his eyes, then shook his head, and then, putting the stick behind his back, he drew a long breath, and looked hard at the boys.
“Business?” said Arthur; “what kind of business?”
Captain Corbet looked all around with an air of furtive scrutiny, and then regarded the boys with more solemnity than ever. He held out his stick again, and regarded it with profound earnestness.
“It’s a diskivery,” said he.
“A discovery?” asked Bart, full of wonder at Captain Corbet’s very singular manner; “a discovery? What kind of a discovery?”
“A diskivery,” continued Captain Corbet; “and this here stick,” he continued, holding it forth, “this here stick is the identical individooal article that’s made the diskivery to me. ’Tain’t everybody I’d tell; but you boys air different. I trust youns. Do you see that?” shaking the stick; “do you know what that air is? Guess, now.”
“That?” said Bart, somewhat contemptuously. “Why, what’s that? It’s only a common stick.”
At this Captain Corbet seemed deeply offended. He caressed the stick affectionately, and looked reproachfully at Bart.
“A stick?” said he at last; “a common stick? No, sir. ’Tain’t a stick at all. Excuse me. Thar’s jest whar you’re out of your reckonin. ’Tain’t a stick at all; no, nor anythin like it.”