We made no answer, and the figure closed upon us.
"Pray, is Mr *** at home—he, he, he?" said our skipper to the stranger.
The party addressed stopped suddenly, and appeared a good deal startled. But he soon recovered himself, and answered—
"He is. May I ask who makes the enquiry in such a merry mood?"
"Yes; I am the master of the Moonbeam—ha, ha, ha—a Montego bay trader, bound to the Indian coast, but obliged to put in here in distress—he, he, ho—having badly sprung some of our spars—ha, ha, ha."
"Then what the h—l are you laughing at, sir?" rejoined the stranger, savagely.
"Laugh—laugh—why, I am quite serious, sir—sad as a drowned rat—why, I am put in here in distress, sir—ha, ha, ha."
It was time for me to strike in, I saw. "It is a peculiarity in the gentleman's manner, sir, and no offence is meant."
"Oh, very well," said the other, laughing himself, and turning to Toby once more. "And this other?" continued he, very unceremoniously indicating myself, to be sure.
"My passenger—he, he, he!"—said the man, with some discretion, as there was no use in our case of mentioning names, or being more communicative than necessary.