"So you have put in here in distress," said he to the master of the Moonbeam, glancing his eyes upwards, where the people were at work at the head of the mainmast.
"Yes, sir," said Tooraloo, but before he could get in another word, our friend was in the main-rigging himself, and near the masthead.
"Eigh, eigh," sung out Palmneedle and Chip, who were helping the carpenters and riggers aloft, "what dis—who dis?" for the dog was following his master like a monkey, yaffing and barking, and sprawling with his feet through the ratlines—so each of the negroes, seizing a rope, slid down on deck, and with such vehemence, that they capsized on their backs, cocking up their black trotters in the air, after a most ludicrous fashion.
"Oh, I see—I see," said Wallace or Wilson, descending, and swinging himself in on deck with the grace of an Apollo; "masthead badly sprung—and your chaps seem to be going clumsily enough about their work too"—(a truth undoubtedly)—"I will send you my carpenter's crew to lend a hand in securing it."
"Thank you, sir," said Toby, with much the sort of expression and tone of a contrite culprit thanking the hangman for adjusting the rope.
I was myself cruelly taken aback by such unlooked-for civility, I will confess.
"But won't you step down and see my owner, sir? he is in the cabin," quoth Tooraloo, in doubt what to say or do—metre again.
"Oh, certainly—no objections—but won't you go first, sir?" said he, with one hand on the companion, and politely indicating the ladder with the other; cloaking thereby his real object, which was clearly that he might not be taken at advantage.
Tooraloo and I went below on this, as one needs must go when the devil drives, and were immediately followed by the stranger.
Lennox was busy with some papers, and stooping down over his open desk, with his pen crossed in his mouth, when we entered—