“A fellow can’t know every thing in the world.”
“Then, I suppose you know every thing else: but how to put the helm down was the one thing you ought to have known, when that fellow was kind enough to tell you beforehand that he meant to sink you.”
“Don’t be too rough on me, Mr.— I don’t know your name. I am under very great obligations
to you for the signal service you have rendered me, and I shall be glad to know you better.”
“My name is Theodore Dornwood,—Dory for short. What is yours?”
“Dory Dornwood!” exclaimed the victim, bestowing a look of astonishment upon the modest skipper. “I have heard of you before, and I am particularly glad to meet you.”
“I should think you might be, since I picked you up in deep water. But you did not give me your name.”
“My name is Bolingbroke Millweed.”
“Is that all the name you have?” asked Dory, as he opened his eyes till they were as big as a pair of saucers—very small saucers. “I didn’t quite make it out, for it fairly snarled up my intellect.”
“Bolingbroke Millweed,” repeated the stranger with a slight frown upon his brow. “It’s all the name I have.”