The manner and speech of El Señor Tobias were, if possible, more odd than his outward and physical man; his delivery being a curious mixture of what appeared to be a barbarous recitative, or sing-song, and suppressed laughter; although the latter was only a nervous frittering away of the fag end of his sentences, and by no means intended to express mirth; the voice sounding as if he were choke-full of new bread, or the words had been sparked off from an ill set barrel organ, revolving in his brisket.
"I hope," said I, to this beauty, "you may not be out in your reckoning about your cargo of shell being ready for you on the coast, captain?"
"Oh no, oh no,—ho, ho, ho," chuckled Tooraloo.
"What the deuce are you laughing at?" said I, a good deal surprised. Being a silent sort of fellow his peculiarity had not been so noticeable before.
"Laugh—laugh—ho, ho, he. I am not laughing, sir—quite serious—he, he, ho."
"It is a way Mr Tooraloo has got," said Lennox, smiling.
"Oh, I see it is."
"I am sure there will be no disappointment this time, sir,—now, since Big Claw is out of the way,—ho, ho, ho,"—quoth Toby.
"Big Claw—who is Big Claw?" said I.
"An Indian chief, sir, and one of our chief traders,—he, he, ho,—and best customer, sir,—ho, ho, he,—but turned rogue at last, sir, rogue at last—he, he, he—left my mate with him, and Tom the Indian boy, voyage before last—he, he, he—and when I came back, he had cheated them both. Oh dear, if we did not lose fifty weight of shell,—ho, ho, he."