"You had better come in. You will see where we sailors get our clothing."
Not suspecting any sinister design in this invitation, Charlie accepted it without more ado, and followed Randall in. He looked about him with some curiosity, not observing that he too was an object of attention to the Jewish dealer, whose quick eye detected their entrance.
He went forward to meet Randall.
"You see the boy, do you?" asked the mate, in a low voice.
"Is that the one?"
"Yes. Do you think you will be able to fit him?"
"No doubt about it, though he is a little smaller than the boys we usually fit out."
"Never mind if the clothes are a little large. He'll be sure to grow to them, and a precise fit isn't quite so important on the quarter-deck as it might be on Washington Street. We are not fashionable on board the Betsey, Mr. Mellen."
The dealer laughed, showing some yellowish tusks, which were evidently not supplied by the dentist.
"Have you made out my bill?"