Captain Pharo drew a strange breath of relief.
"Mebbe we're a little alike in that respec'," Captain Leezur assured him deliciously; "'cept 't he ain't nigh so ongodly as I use' ter be."
"I don' know," said Captain Pharo. "I have worked sometimes, Sundays—poo! poo! hohum!—but not 'less 'twas somethin' 'mportant, gettin' in hay or somethin' like that. And I have—poo! poo! hohum! Wal, wal—hauled out my lobster car sometimes Sundays waitin' for the smack—hohum!"
"Pharo," said Uncle Coffin, holding up his finger, "no more! I know ye. Thar ain't an ongodly bone in yer body—'cept maybe when ye've lost yer pipe an' cussed a little."
"An' the women folks wants to haul ye over somewhar's on a flat sea to have yer gol darn pictur' took!" said Captain Pharo, with poignant recollection of a still unquiet grief.
"Kobbe," said Uncle Coffin, "no more!"
"'I know not why I love her,
The fair an' beau'chus she;
She bro't the cuss upon me,
Und'neath the apple-tree:
But she asked me for my jack knife,
And halved 'er squar' with me,
Sence all'as lovely woman
Gives the biggest half to thee.'"
"Judah's wife writ that," exclaimed Captain Pharo, with a generic awe of poetry as poetry.
"She did," said Uncle Coffin, with eyes appreciative of the muse fixed gravely on the fire, "she did."
There was a daughter of Eve who was treating me very severely.