After a while he said, "You haint mindin' me puttin' hit off this away?"
"No," the bosun said, "suit yourself."
The first mate sent a shaving skittering with his knife blade. "Shucks," he said, "there hain't really no hurry."
The bosun raised his head from his chest and shook the hair out of his face. "Not really, when you consider it," he said.
"Yep, that's right." The first mate began to work on the point of the stick; he sharpened it down to needle fineness, and then he carefully cut in the barb. "Hain't very strong wood; them barbs are cut against the grain, an' they're liable ta split off when I try ta pull 'em out."
"I hope not," the bosun said.
The first mate said, "Yep, I'm shore afraid they're a-gonna do jest that little trick."
"Look," said the bosun, "this hair's gettin' in my eyes. I wunder if you'd mind kinda snippin' it off?"
"Not a-tall," the first mate said.
He walked over to the bosun, grabbed a handful of hair and sawed it off with the penknife.