“Well, if it be not you then, I scarcely know to whom to attribute them. Until lately, I only knew you as the warm hearted West Indian gentleman; but now I am certain I am to....”
“Tom, hold your tongue, my beautiful little man. For, although I must plead guilty to having mixed a little in literary society in my younger days—Alas! my heart, those days are gane.”
“Ah, Mr Swop,” continued Mr Bang, as the master was ushered into the room. “Plate and glasses for Mr Swop.”
The sailor bowed, perched himself on the very edge of his chair, scarcely within long arm’s length of the table, and sitting bolt upright, as if he had swallowed a spare studdingsail-boom, drank our healths, and smoothed down his hair on his brow.
“Captain, I come to report the schooner ready to...”
“Poo,” rattled out Mr Bang; “time for your tale by and by;—help yourself to some of that capital beef, Peter,—So—Yes, my love,” continued our friend, resuming his yarn. “I once coped even with John Wilson himself. Yea, in the fullness of my powers, I feared not even the Professor.”
“Indeed!” said I.
“True, as I am a gentleman. Why, I once, in a public trial of skill, beat him, even him, by eighteen measured inches, from toe to heel.”
I stared.
“I was the slighter man of the two, certainly. Still, in a flying leap, I always had the best of it, until he astonished the world with the Isle of Palms. From that day forth, my springiness and elasticity left me. Fallen was my muscles brawny vaunt. I quailed. My genius stood rebuked before him. Nevertheless, at hop-step-and-jump I was his match still. When out came the City of the Plague! From that the Great Ostrich could not hold the candle to the Flying Philosopher. And now, heaven help me! I can scarcely cover nineteen feet, with every advantage of ground for the run. It is true, the Professor was always in condition, and never required training; now, unless I had time for my hard food, I was seldom in wind.”