precious Voluta Aulica; while yonder,--what was this man, that he should
have a Voluta Junonia, of which only a few specimens are possessed in
the known world? What did it all mean?

The Skipper sat beside the table, quiet and self-contained as usual. His
arm lay on the table, his hand was never far from the more precious
shells, and his eyes did not leave the old man's face; but he showed no
sign of uneasiness. Why should he, when he could have lifted Mr.
Endymion with his left hand and set him at any minute at the top of the
cabin stairs? Now and then he took up a shell with apparent carelessness
(though in reality he handled them with fingers as fine as a woman's,
knowing their every tenderest part, and where they might best be
approached without offence to their delicacy), looked it over, and made
some remark about its quality or value; but for the most part he was
silent, letting the shells speak for themselves and make their own
effect.

The old man had been wheezing and grunting painfully for some minutes,
opening and shutting his hands, and actually scratching the table-cloth
in his distress. At length he broke out, after a long silence.

"Who are ye, I want to know? How come you by these shells? I know
something about what they're wuth--that is--well, I know they aint wuth
what you say they are, well enough; but they air wuth a good deal,--I
know that. What I want to understand is, what you're after here! What do
you want, and why do you show me these things if--if--you come by them
honestly. Hey?"

The Skipper smiled meditatively. "Yes!" he said, "we all like to know
things,--part of our nature, sir--part of our nature. I, now, I like to