"What's this?" says he, gently. "It never happened afore, little
shipmate, betwixt you an' me. What's this?" he begged. "I'm
troubled."
I pulled the cork of his bottle, and poured a dram, most liberally, to
delight his heart; and I must turn my face away, somehow, to hide it
from him, because of shame for this mean doubt of him, ungenerous and
ill-begotten.
"I'm troubled," he repeated. "What's this, lad?"