'Well, my dear, I am sorry to say that he had once bitten off three of his fingers. You may think this was proceeding to extremities; but, on the whole, I give him credit for great moderation. They will bite sometimes, however—me teste, who once in my proper person verified the old proverb, which I had always taken for a bit of unnatural history.'
'I know; 'been a bear, 'twould a bit you,' eh?'
'Your customary sagacity, Tom, is not at fault. Yes, the bear bit me.'
'Dick,' said my uncle, 'it strikes me, all this wouldn't make a bad magazine article, if you'd only leave out your confounded speculations; and Tom, as your cousin says, I wish you would stick a little closer to your classics.'
'Cousin Dick!'
'Well, little No-no!'
'You tell a real good story.'
'Do I? then come and pay me for it.'
'No-o! you sha-a-ant! aeou!! there now, tell us another; tell us about the bear that bit you?'
'There isn't much to tell about that either. It was on a steamer, in the Gulf. On the forecastle lay a stout oaken box, and in it—all his troubles to come—was a young bear. In the top of it was an inch auger-hole, and at this small port the poor devil used to keep his eye all day so pitifully, that I had compassion on him, saw he would get etiolated, and besought the captain to let him out.