Chip now returned, carrying a pot of molten pitch in his hand. As he stepped over Palmy's leg, he spilt, by accident of course, some of the hot fluid on his foot.
"Broder Palmneedle—broder Palmneedle—I am wery sorry; but it was one haxident, you know."
Palmy winced a little, but said nothing; and the master of the schooner coming on deck, sent Chip to stretch the sail in some particular way, and to hold it there, for the convenience of the sailmaker. Every thing remained quiet between them as long as the skipper was near, and I continued my reading; but very shortly, I heard symptoms of the scald operating on our sailmaker's temper, as the affront had done on the carpenter's.
Quoth Chip to Palmneedle, as he sat down on deck, and took hold of the sail, "Really hope I haven't burnt you, ater all, Palmneedle?"
"Oh, no, not at all," drawing in his scalded toe, however, as if he had got the gout in it.
"Quite glad of dat; but him do look swell a leetle, and de kin begin to peel off a bit, I am sorry to see."
"Oh, no," quoth Palmy again,—"quite cool, no pain, none at all."
A pause—Palmy tries to continue his song, but in vain, and presently gives a loud screech as Chip, in turning over the clew of the sail roughly, brought the earring down crack on the parboiled toe. "What you mean by dat?"
"What! have I hurt you? Ah, poor fellow, I see I have burnt you now, ater all."
"I tell you I is not burn," sings out Palmy, holding his toe hard with one hand; "but don't you see you have nearly broken my foot? Why did you hit me, sir, wid de clew of dat heavy sail, sir, as if it had been one mallet? Did you do it o' propos?"