nigh stove me all up.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Salters. I came to sea on account of nervous dyspepsia. You advised me, I think.”
“You an’ your nervis dyspepsy be drowned in the Whale-hole,” roared Uncle Salters, a fat and tubby little man. “You’re comin’ down on me agin. Did ye say forty-two or forty-five?”
“I’ve forgotten, Mr. Salters. Let’s count.”
“Don’t see as it could be forty-five. I’m forty-five,” said Uncle Salters. “You count keerful, Penn.”
Disko Troop came out of the cabin.
“Salters, you pitch your fish in naow at once,” he said in the tone of authority.
“Don’t spile the catch, Dad,” Dan murmured. “Them two are on’y jest beginnin’.”
“Mother av delight! He’s forkin’ them wan by wan,” howled Long Jack, as Uncle Salters