The Cruise of the Jasper B. | Page 8

"but
do you live here?"
The brown old man made an indeterminate motion of his head, without
otherwise replying at once. Then he took a cake of dark, hard-looking
tobacco from the starboard pocket of his trousers and a clasp knife from
the port side. He shaved off a fresh pipeful, rolled it in his palms,
knocked the old ash from his pipe, refilled and relighted it, all with the
utmost deliberation. Then he cut another small piece of tobacco from
the "plug" and popped it into his mouth. Cleggett perceived with
surprise that he smoked and chewed tobacco at the same time. As he
thus refreshed himself he glanced from time to time at Cleggett as if
unfavorably impressed. Finally he closed his knife with a click and
suddenly piped out in a high, shrill voice:
"No! Do you?"
"I--er--do I what?" It had taken the old man so long to answer that
Cleggett had forgotten his own question, and the shrill fierceness of the
voice was disconcerting.
He regarded Cleggett contemptuously, spat on the deck, and then
demanded truculently:
"D'ye want to buy any seed potatoes?"

"Why--er, no," said Cleggett.
"Humph!" said the brown one, with the air of meaning that it was only
to be expected of an idiot like Cleggett that he would NOT want to buy
any seed potatoes. But after a further embarrassing silence he relented
enough to give Cleggett another chance.
"You want some seed corn!" he announced rather than asked.
"No. I------"
"Tomato plants!" shrilled the brown one, as if daring him to deny it.
"No."
He turned his back on Cleggett, as if he had lost interest, and began to
wind up his fishing line on a squeaky reel.
"Who owns this boat?" Cleggett touched him on the elbow.
"Thinkin' of buyin' her?"
"Perhaps. Who owns her?"
"What would you do with her?"
"I might fix her up and sail her. Who owns her?"
"She'll take a sight o' fixin'."
"No doubt. Who did you say owned her?"
The old man, who had finished with the rusty reel, deigned to look at
Cleggett again.
"Dunno as I said."
"But who DOES own her?"

"She's stuck fast in the mud and her rudder's gone."
"I see you know a lot about ships," said Cleggett, deferentially, giving
up the attempt to find out who owned her. "I picked you out for an old
sailor the minute I saw you." He thought he detected a kindlier gleam in
the old man's eye as that person listened to these words.
"The' ain't a stick in her," said the ancient fisherman. "She's got no
wheel and she's got no nothin'. She used to be used as a kind of a
barroom and dancin' platform till the fellow that used her for such went
out o' business."
He paused, and then added:
"What might your name be?"
"Cleggett."
He appeared to reflect on the name. But he said:
"If you was to ask me, I'd say her timbers is sound."
"Tell me," said Cleggett, "was she a deep-water ship? Could a ship like
her sail around the world, for instance? I can tell that you know all
about ships."
Something like a grin of gratified vanity began to show on the brown
one's features. He leaned back against the rail and looked at Cleggett
with the dawn of approval in his eyes.
"My name's Abernethy," he suddenly volunteered. "Isaiah Abernethy.
The fellow that owns her is Goldberg. Abraham Goldberg. Real estate
man."
"Cleggett began to get an insight into Mr. Abernethy's peculiar ideas
concerning conversation. A native spirit of independence prevented Mr.
Abernethy from dealing with an interlocutor's remarks in the sequence
that seemed to be desired by the interlocutor. He took a selection of
utterances into his mind, rolled them over together, and replied in

accordance with some esoteric system of his own.
"Where is Mr. Goldberg's office?" asked Cleggett.
"You've come to the proper party to get set right about ships," said Mr.
Abernethy, complacently. "Either you was sent to me by someone that
knows I'm the proper party to set you right about ships, or else you got
an eye in your own head that can recognize a man that comes of a
seafarin' fambly."
"You ARE an old sailor, then? Maybe you are an old skipper? Perhaps
you're one of the retired Long Island sea captains we're always hearing
so much about?"
"So fur as sailin' her around the world is concerned," said Mr.
Abernethy, glancing over the hulk, "if she was fixed up she could be
sailed anywheres--anywheres!"
"What would you call her--a schooner?"
"This here Goldberg," said Mr. Abernethy, "has his office over town
right accost from the railroad depot."
And with that he put his fishing pole over his shoulder and prepared to