“Whew! good evening! whew!” replied he. He had a curious way, this comb, of giving a sort of half-whistle, half-sigh, between every few words he spoke.
“I suppose you are an older resident here than I am?” I suggested, by way of making myself agreeable.
“No, I’m not, whew! I belong to the other pocket, whew! I don’t know why I’m here, whew! but make yourself at home, whew!”
“I hear your master is going to sea,” said I.
“Not at all, whew! Who told you that? whew! but I tell you what, whew—”
“What?” I inquired.
At this moment our master stopped still in the middle of the road. I looked out and saw that he was standing face to face with a fine soldierly-looking fellow in uniform, who wore a cockade of ribbons on his shako.
“Good evening, my lad,” said the soldier.
“Good evening, cap’n,” said the youth.
“Not cap’n just yet,” said the other, laughing; “call it sergeant.”