Well, I saw there was a squall rising to windward, but boy like, instead of shortening sail, and taking down royals and topgallant masts, and making all snug, I just braved it out, and prepared to meet the blast with every inch of canvas set. “Yes, Sir,” said I, “the twelfth.”
“Dear me,” said he, “poor boy, that is my fault. I really thought you knew there were only ten, and had them by heart years ago. They were among the first things I taught you. How on earth could you have forgotten them so soon? Repeat them to me.”
Well, I went through them all, down to “anything that is his,” to ampersand without making a single stop.
“Sam,” said he, “don’t do it again, that’s a good soul, for it frightens me. I thought I must have neglected you.”
“Well,” sais I, “there are two more, Sir.”
“Two more,” he said, “why what under the sun do you mean? what are they?”
“Why,” sais I, “the eleventh is, ‘Expect nothin’, and you shall not be disappointed,’ and the twelfth is, ‘Fret not thy gizzard.’”
“And pray, Sir,” said he, lookin’ thunder-squalls at me, “where did you learn them?”
“From Major Zeb Vidito,” said I.
“Major Zeb Vidito,” he replied, “is the greatest reprobate in the army. He is the wretch who boasts that he fears neither God, man, nor devil. Go, my son, gather up your books, and go home. You can return to your father. My poor house has no room in it for Major Zeb Vidito, or his pupil, Sam Slick, or any such profane wicked people, and may the Lord have mercy on you.”