"Thank you," replied Hawkshaw, with a quiet stare, as he took the ring from Morley, and placed it on one of his fingers, even his bushy moustache failing to conceal the fierce quiver of his upper lip; "I received it at a ball, from the eldest daughter of General Santa Anna, and so can well afford to receive it back from a daughter of old Scriven Basset."
This was the third or fourth history of the ring Morley had heard; but he only smiled in silence.
"You think you have done your duty," resumed the captain, as the resolution to quarrel became strong in his breast, so strong that he cared not to repress it; "but I reckon, friend Ashton, that you are slightly up a tree, as the Yankees say."
"Sir, I do not understand you," said Morley.
"I am not so vernal as to fail in perceiving that you are awfully spooney upon Miss Basset."
"If I am to construe your slang into meaning that I love her, you are quite right," replied Morley, coldly, as he rose up.
"But you cannot think of marrying her, even if old Basset be donkey enough to let you!"
"Captain Hawkshaw!"
"For one who can scarcely float himself, it is thankless work to take a sinking craft in tow," continued the captain, whose phrases were quite as often nautical as Mexican.
"Sir, you are impertinent."