In the bows, boathook in hand,
stood a tall sailor, arrayed in shore-going clothes similar to Mr.
Jope's. His face was long, sallow, and expressive of taciturnity,
and he wore a beard--not, however, where beards are usually worn, but
as a fringe beneath his clean-shaven chin.
"Well, here we are!" announced Mr. Jope cheerfully. "Your Reverence
knows A. Grigg and Son, and the others you can trust in all weathers;
bein' William Adams, otherwise Bill, and Eli Tonkin--friends o' mine
an' shipmates both."
The tall seaman touched his hat by way of acknowledging the
introduction.
"But--but I only see _one!_" protested Parson Spettigew.
"This here's Bill Adams," said Mr. Jope, and again the tall seaman
touched his hat. "Is it Eli you're missin'? He's in the cask."
"Oh!"
"We'll hoick him up to the store, Bill, if you're ready? It looks a
nice cool place. And while you're prizin' him open, I'd best explain
to his Reverence and the barber. Here, unship the shore-plank; and
you, A. Grigg and Son, lend a hand to heave. . . . Aye, you're right:
it weighs more'n a trifle--bein' a quarter-puncheon, an' the best
proof-spirits.
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