“’Tis that,” says my uncle.
“An’ this here?” Tom Bull continues, selecting my little finger.
“Well, now, Tom,” says my uncle, with gusto, for he delighted in these discussions, “I ’low I better tell you ’bout that. Ye see, lad,” says he, “that’s a seal-ring, 17 Tom. I’m told that gentlemen wears un t’ stamp the wax o’ their corr-ee-spondence. ’Twas Sir Harry that give me the trick o’ that. It haves a D for Daniel, an’ a C for Callaway; an’ it haves a T in the middle, Tom, for Top. I ’lowed I’d get the Top in somewheres, so I put it in atween the D an’ the C t’ have it lie snug: for I’m not wantin’ this here little Dannie t’ forget that Top was t’ the wheel in his younger days.” He turned to me, and in a voice quite broken with affection, and sadly hopeless, somehow, as I recall, “Dannie, lad,” says he, “ye’ll never forget, will ye, that Top was t’ the wheel? God bless ye, child! Well, Tom,” turning now to his shipmate, “ye’re a man much sailed t’ foreign parts, an’ ye wouldn’t think it ungenteel, would ye, for a lad like Dannie t’ wear a seal-ring? No? I’m wonderful glad o’ that. For, Tom,” says he, most earnestly, “I’m wantin’ Dannie t’ be a gentleman. He’s just got t’ be a gentleman!”
“A gentleman, Nick?”
“He’ve got t’ be a gentleman!”
“You’ll never manage that, Nick Top,” says Tom Bull.
“Not manage it!” my uncle indignantly complained. “Why, look, Tom Bull––jus’ look––at them there jools! An’ that’s on’y a poor beginnin’!”
Tom Bull laid my hand very gingerly upon the table, as though ’twere a thing not lightly to be handled lest it fall to pieces in his grasp. He drew my left hand from my pocket and got it under the light.
“Two pearls,” says my uncle, “’longside a emerald. Aft o’ that you’ll be like t’ find two more di’monds. Them’s first-water Brazil, Tom.”