"Come, come, Tom, bring yourself to an anchor at once."
Thus authorised, he plumped into a chair, and, putting his hat under it, carefully deposited there a large quid of tobacco, which he dislodged from its snug quarters in his left cheek.
"Now, Tom, carry on," said Mr Dalzell.
"Why, your honour," said Tom, slyly glancing at the table, "I'm in no spirits for spinning a yarn just now."
I laughed, and filled a tumbler with whisky and water, to which Tom paid his respects with evident satisfaction.
"Mr Dalzell has told us," said I, "of your escape from the wreck of the Dareall—and a wonderful one it was."
"You may say that," replied he; "I never had such a narrow squeak in my life."
"But tell us something about yourself, and Mr Dalzell. I suppose you have been in action together?"
"Action!—Lord love ye, sir, we were hardly ever out of it! If I were to tell you all, I'd have nothing else to do for the next week. I always said I'd live to see him an admiral, and I say so still; and if ever man deserved a flag, there sits the man, for a braver officer and a better seaman never trod a plank, though I says it as shouldn't say it, seeing as how I first taught him to reef and steer."
"Come, come, Tom," interrupted Dalzell, "if you are going to spin such a yarn as that, the sooner you cut it the better."