the sea, laid hold of the boat, and ran it inshore until its keel grounded, all with such admirable dexterity that spoke of long training at the hazardous work. Vikings, thought Don Abrahan, pirates of a species, who were insensible to all things but sharp liquor, sharp curses, heavy blows. A gentleman did not stand waiting on foot the arrival of such as these.
The Yankee captain had no such feeling of nicety in the case. If Don Abrahan could have seen into his mind, indeed, he probably would have been rudely disturbed in his stand upon ancient privileges, for aside from the Yankee captain's feeling of condescension and patronage for a people so unenlightened in religion and politics, his one concern was to be done with this dangerous harbor and standing out to sea. He came bounding up the steep shore now, his long legs cutting the distance as shears in a tailor's hands devour their way through a width of cloth.
"Well, Don Abrahan!" the captain hailed, making it hearty, and warm as he knew very well how to put friendliness and equality into a trade salutation. "Glad to see you here so early with them hides. Does this wind it up for you?"
"Wind it up?" Don Abrahan repeated, displeased with what he took for an unwarranted familiarity of address, rather than mystified by the meaning. "If you mean is this all, then this is all—for me."
"Of course that's what I meant," the captain
