"True, boy, true"--as he shackled himself to me, and we began to crawl
along towards the wharf--gate leading into the town. Captain Transom by
this time had landed, and came up with us.
"Ah, Transom," said Whiffle, "glad to see you. I say, why won't you
allow Mr Cringle here to go over to Spanish Town with me for a couple of
days, eh?"
"Why, I don't remember that Mr Cringle has ever asked leave."
"Indeed, sir, I neither did ask leave, nor have I thought of doing so,"
said I.
"But I do for you," chimed in my friend Whiffle. "Come, captain, give
him leave, just for two days, that's a prime chap. Why, Tom, you see
you have got it, so off with you and come to me with your kit as soon as
possible; I will hobble on and make the coffee and chocolate; and,
Captain Transom, come along and breakfast with me too. No refusal, I
require society. Nearly drowned yesterday, do you know that? Off this
same cursed wharf too--just here. I was looking down at the small fish
playing about the piles, precisely in this position; one of them was as
bright in the scales as a gold fish in my old grandmother's glass globe,
and I had to crane over the ledge in this fashion," suiting the action
to the word, "when away I went"--
And, to our unutterable surprise, splash went Peregrine Whiffle,
Esquire, for the second time, and there--he was shouting, and puffing,
and splashing in the water. We were both so convulsed with laughter
that I believe he would have been drowned for us; but the boat--keeper
of the gig, the strong athletic negro before mentioned, promptly jumped
on the wharf with his boat--hook, and caught the dapper little old beau
by the waistband of his breeches, swaying him up, frightened enough,
with his little coat skirts fluttering in the breeze, and no wonder, but
not much the worse for it all.
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