“No, I know you haven’t. I ain’t blaming you, gentlemen. I brought myself down⁠—yes, I did it myself. It’s right I should suffer⁠—perfectly right⁠—I don’t make any moan.”

“Brought you down from whar? Whar was you brought down from?”

“Ah, you would not believe me; the world never believes⁠—let it pass⁠—’tis no matter. The secret of my birth⁠—”

“The secret of your birth! Do you mean to say⁠—”

“Gentlemen,” says the young man, very solemn, “I will reveal it to you, for I feel I may have confidence in you. By rights I am a duke!”

Jim’s eyes bugged out when he heard that; and I reckon mine did, too. Then the baldhead says: “No! you can’t mean it?”