It did not appear whom or what he was addressing; but a
head, presumably the cook's, appeared in answer at the
galley door.
"In the cabin, at dinner," said the cook deliberately,
chewing as he spoke.
"Is that cargo out?"
"No, sir."
"None of it?"
"O, there's some of it out. We'll get at the rest of
it livelier to-morrow, I guess."
"I guess there'll be something broken first," said
Pinkerton, and strode to the cabin.
Here we found a man, fat, dark, and quiet, seated
gravely at what seemed a liberal meal. He looked up
upon our entrance; and seeing Pinkerton continue to
stand facing him in silence, hat on head, arms folded,
and lips compressed, an expression of mingled wonder
and annoyance began to dawn upon his placid face.
"Well!" said Jim; and so this is what you call rushing
around?"
"Who are you?" cries the captain.
"Me! I'm Pinkerton!" retorted Jim, as though the name
had been a talisman.
"You're not very civil, whoever you are," was the
reply. But still a certain effect had been produced,
for he scrambled to his feet, and added hastily, "A man
must have a bit of dinner, you know, Mr.
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