rolled the blue-white incense-cloud, dense as the cottony puff
at the mouths of the guns in Vernet's "Siege of Algiers." Or you might
say that these were but the flying-buttresses, the floriated pinnacles,
the frets, and the gargoyles of a great frowzy cathedral lying vast and
solid far below.

The Captain sat at the head of the table; next him was the fixed star
Duespeptos, with Satellite stationary on the right quarter.

* * * * *

_Eupeptos._--Coffee,--that's good. John, fill my cup. Have it strong,
mind,--no milk.

_Duespeptos._ (Placing hand remonstratingly on arm of Eupeptos.)--My
friend, man's life a'n't more'n a span, anyhow; yourn wun't be wuth
more'n half a span. Don't ye do it.

_Eupeptos._ (Gayly.)--_Dum vivimus, vivamus._ Try a cup, Mr. Rink.

_Duespeptos._--No, Sir. Thousan' dollars'd be no objick at all.
There'd be a dead Rink layin' round in less 'n half a shake. I'd want a
permit from the undertaker fust, an' hev my measure for a patent casket
to order. This child a'n't anxious to cut stick yit awhile.

_Eupeptos._--I'm very much of Voltaire's way of thinking about coffee. I
don't know but I would agree with Mackintosh, that the measure of a
man's brains is the amount of coffee he drinks. I like it in the French
style, all but the _lait_; that destroys the flavor, besides making it
despicably weak. Have a hot biscuit, Mr. Rink? I'm afraid they're like
Gilpin,--carry weight, you know. But try one, won't you?

_Duespeptos._--I'm shot ef I do. Don't hev any more o' yer nonsense,
young man, or I'll git ructions.

_Eupeptos._--All right. Advance, pancakes! Here's a prime one, steaming
hot, crisp and fizzling. Allow me to put it on your plate, Sir?

_Duespeptos._--Not by a long chalk. Hands off, I tell ye, or there'll
be a free fight afore shortly. You'd better make up yer mind to oncet
thet this 'ere thing a'n't goin' to ram nohow.

_Eupeptos._--Sorry I can't suit you. Better luck next time. Ah! here's
the very thing. Waiter, pass the fried steak, salt mackerel, and fried
potatoes to Mr. Rink.

_Duespeptos._--Wun't stan' it,--I snore I wun't! I tell ye, I'm
gittin' master-riled. Jest you take yer own fodder, an' keep quiet.

_Eupeptos._--Pardon me, Sir, but my eye has just fallen on yonder dish
of dough-nuts, faced by those incense-breathing griddle-cakes. Look
slightly soggy, but not disagreeable. This sea-air, you know, gives a
man a tremendous appetite for an