Here a venerable Mackerel tottered from the ranks, and says he: "Is them the birds in them ere cases and barrels, Capting?"
Villiam attempted to rattle his sword threateningly at this interruption; but observing that the hilt of his weapon had got around to his spine, he rattled the keys in his pockets instead, and says he:
"How now, Sarah!"
(He meant to say "sirrah," my boy,—he meant to say "sirrah;" having recently learned, from the perusal of a moral tale in one of our excellent weekly journals of exciting romance, that said aristocratic term is of frequent occurrence in all the conversations of the great.)
"Why," says the aged Mackerel, coughing into his hand, "if them's the turkeys the people have sent us for Thanksgiving, we're ready for 'em."
"You're right, Sarah," says Villiam, magnanimously, "and we'll open this first case at once. The trade-mark of this case," says Villiam, learnedly, "is '50 Turkeys with Care.'"
They were prying the lid off, my boy, with bayonets, and the eyes of the surrounding Mackerels had commenced to glisten fierily through their spectacles, when I saw Villiam and Captain Bob Shorty exchange looks of deep meaning, and shake their heads like a couple of melancholy mandarins.
"Robert S.," says Villiam, with a look of deep perplexity, "this is indeed a strange oversight."
Captain Bob Shorty shook his head sadly.
"And yet," says Villiam, sternly, "we must tell these beings about it."