"But what are we going for?"
If he had not been so much of a gentleman, I should have said that the
half-closing of his left eye and its rapid reopening had been a wink; as
it was, we will say it was not. The next moment, he had thrown himself
back in his chair, smiled, and said, quietly. "Not yet, captain--not
yet. I'll tell you by-and-by. At present it is my secret. Waiter,
fill these glasses again!"
"But look here," I said, as soon as the waiter had done his duty, "you
can't sail right up into the Arctic circle without a crew."
"No," he said, shaking his head; "but _you_ will go?"
"Well--yes," I said; "I don't mind. She's a smart steamer, and well
found. I'll take her."
He rose solemnly from his chair, crossed to my side, and shook hands,
before wabbling back and sitting down, filling the old-fashioned Windsor
armchair so very full, that I wondered it didn't come to pieces.
I don't want to be personal, but he certainly was the fattest man I ever
saw, and the most active. The Claimant was nothing to him. He looked
perfectly stupid, as he sat there with a great wattle under his chin,
which came all over his white neckerchief and clean-frilled shirt; and
as he talked to you, he kept spinning round the great bunch of gold
seals at the end of a watered silk ribbon, that hung over his glossy
black trousers, while the huge flaps of his black bob-tail coat hung
over the sides of the chair.
"You'll be my captain, then?" he said.
"Yes, sir, I'm ready," I replied; "but about the crew. Their first
question will be, `is it whale or seal?'"
"Tell them--tell them," he said, musing,--"tell them _seal_, and we'll
do a bit of sealing on the voyage; but, my dear Captain Cookson, the
real object of our trip is at present _under_ seal. You understand?"