"
"Well, but at sea?" I said.
"You make me tired," retorted the captain. "What's the
use--at sea? Everything's got to come to bearings at
some port, hasn't it? You can't stop at sea for ever,
can you?--No; the FLYING SCUD is rubbish; if it
meant anything, it would have to mean something so
almighty intricate that James G. Blaine hasn't got the
brains to engineer it; and I vote for more axeing,
pioneering, and opening up the resources of this
phenomenal brig, and less general fuss," he added,
arising. "The dime-museum symptoms will drop in of
themselves, I guess, to keep us cheery."
But it appeared we were at the end of discoveries for
the day; and we left the brig about sundown, without
being further puzzled or further enlightened. The best
of the cabin spoils--books, instruments, papers, silks,
and curiosities--we carried along with us in a blanket,
however, to divert the evening hours; and when supper
was over, and the table cleared, and Johnson set down
to a dreary game of cribbage between his right hand and
his left, the captain and I turned out our blanket on
the floor, and sat side by side to examine and appraise
the spoils.
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