Do you hear, crew!"
"No," objected David; "if I put you overboard you can't command the
vessel, and ten to one if the craft does not founder for want of
seawomanship on the quarterdeck. However," added he, in a relenting
tone, "wait till we get to that puddle shining on ahead, and then I'll
disembark you."
"No, David, do let me down, that's a good soul. I am tired," added
she, peevishly.
"Tired! of what?"
"Of doing nothing, stupid; there, let me down, dear; won't you,
darling! then take that, love" (a box of the ear).
"Well, I've got it," said David, dryly.
"Keep it, then, till the next. No, he won't let me down. He has got
both my hands in one of his paws, and he will carry me every foot of
the way now--I know the obstinate pig."
"We all have our little characters, Eve. Well, I have got your wrists,
but you have got your tongue, and that is the stronger weapon of the
two, you know; and you are on the poop, so give your orders, and the
ship shall be worked accordingly; likewise, I will enter all your
remarks on good-breeding into my log."
Here, unluckily, David tapped his forehead to signify that the log in
question was a metaphorical one, the log of memory. Eve had him again
directly. She freed a claw. "So this is your log, is it?" cried she,
tapping it as hard as she could; "well, it does sound like wood of
some sort. Well, then, David, dear--you wretch, I mean--promise me not
to laugh loud."
"Well, I will not; it is odds if I laugh at all.
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