the liberty of applying for his money.
Our worthy merchant one bright morning found himself at Portsmouth; he
was a stranger to that town, but not unacquainted altogether with the
English language. He lost no time in calling on Captain Jones.
"And vat?" said he to a man whom he asked to show him to the Captain's
house, "vat is dat fine veshell yondare?"
"She be the Royal Sally," replied the man, "bound for Calcutta--sails
to-morrow; but here's Captain Jones's house, Sir, and he'll tell you
all about it."
The merchant bowed, and knocked at the door of a red brick house--door
green--brass knocker. Captain Gregory Jones was a tall man; he wore a
blue coat without skirts; he had high cheek bones, small eyes, and his
whole appearance was eloquent of what is generally termed the bluff
honesty of the seaman. Captain Gregory seemed somewhat disconcerted at
seeing his friend--he begged for a little further time. The merchant
looked grave--three years had already elapsed. The Captain demurred--the
merchant pressed--the Captain blustered--and the merchant, growing
angry, began to threaten. All of a sudden Captain Jones's manner
changed--he seemed to recollect himself, begged pardon, said he could
easily procure the money, desired the merchant to go back to his inn,
and promised to call on him in the course of the day.
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