SEA RIDDLE. “DO YOU GIVE IT UP?”
“Well, but my dear, good Sir,” expostulated the pompous man; “admitting the justice of your premises, the hardship is confessedly without remedy.”
“To be sure it is,” said the Captain, “every inch of it. All I can say is, that the gentleman’s passage shall be no expense to him!”
“Thankee—of course not,” said the Original with a sneer. “I’ve no right to put my hand in my pocket! Not that I mind expense. But it’s my right I stand up for, and I defy you both to prove that I have any right—or any shadow of a right—to be in your company! I’ll tell you what, Skipper”—but before he could finish the sentence, he turned suddenly pale, made a most grotesque wry face, and rushed forward to the bow of the vessel. The Captain exchanged a significant smile with the stout gentleman; but before they had quite spoken their minds of the absent character, he came scrambling back to the binnacle, upon which he rested with both hands, while he thrust his working visage within a foot of the skipper’s face.
“CHARMING SPOTS ABOUT THIS PART OF THE RIVER.”
“There, Skipper!—now, Mr. What d’ye call—What do you both say to that? What right have I to be sick—as sick as a dog? I’ve no right to be squeamish! I’m not a passenger. I’ve no right to go tumbling over ropes and pails and what not to the ship’s head!”
“But my good Sir,”—began the pompous man.