“Really!” my tutor exclaimed, for lack of something better.
“Fac’,” says my uncle; “an’ paid for––skin an’ eye!”
My tutor gave it up––permitted himself no longer to be troublesomely mystified; but after a quick glance from steerage to cabin, flashed with amused comprehension of the contrast, threw back his head with a little laugh quite detached from our concerns, and presently, innured to the grotesquery, busied himself with relish upon his salt-junk. Thereafter, the rum buzzing in his head, he ran on in a vivacious way upon all things under the sun, save himself, so that the windy night seemed very far away, indeed, and the lamplight and fire to lend an inspiration to his nimble tongue, until, in a lull of the engaging discourse, he caught my uncle peering greedily into the cabin, all but licking his lips, his nostrils distended to the savor, his flooded eyes fixed upon the fresh beef and vegetables in manifest longing, every wrinkle and muscle of his broad face off guard. My tutor––somewhat affected, I fancy, by this display––turned to me with a little frown of curiosity, an intrusive regard, it seemed to me, which I might in all courtesy fend off for the future. ’Twas now time, thinks I, to enlighten him with the knowledge I had: a task I had no liking for, since in its accomplishment I must stir my uncle unduly.
“Uncle Nick,” says I, “’tis like Mr. Cather will be havin’ a cut off my roast.”
“The parson?” my uncle demanded.
“Ay,” says I, disregarding his scowl; “a bit o’ roast beef.”
“Not he!” snaps my uncle. “Not a bite!”
I nerved myself––with a view wholly to Cather’s information. “Uncle Nick,” I proceeded, my heart thumping, such was the temerity of the thing, “’tis a dirty night without, an’ here’s Mr. Cather just joined the ship, an’ I ’low, now, the night, Uncle Nick, that maybe you––”
“Me?” roars my uncle, in a flare of rage and horror. “Me touch it? ME!”