“Poo, poo! all gammon.—I till you I am going back to Dublin.”
“Upon my soul, then,” said the Skipper, rather briskly, “you must swim back like a grampus, or borrow a pair of wings from the gulls.”
The man at the helm grinned his broadest at what he thought a good joke of his officer’s—while the Original turned sharply round, parodied a hyena’s laugh at the fellow, and then returned to the charge.
“Come, come, Skipper—it’s quite as far out as I care for—if you want to treat me to a sail!”
“Treat you to a sail!” roared the indignant officer. “Zounds! Sir, I’m in earnest—as much in earnest as ever I was in my life.”
“So much the better,” answered the Original. “I’m not joking myself, and I have no right to be joked upon.”
“Joke or no joke,” said the Captain—“all I know is this. The mail bags are on board—and it’s more than my post is worth to put back.”
“Eh? What? How?” exclaimed the Oddity, with a sort of nervous dance. “You astonish me! Do—you—really—mean to say—I’m obligated to go—whether I’ve a right or not?”
“I do indeed, Sir—I’m sorry for it, but it can’t be helped. My orders are positive. The moment the mail is on board I must cast off.”
“Indeed!—well—but you know—why, that’s your duty, not mine. I have no right to be cast off! I’ve no right to be here at all. I’ve no right to be anywhere—except in Merrion Square!”