and I saw no more of him till he became my comrade on the sea.
In a few minutes, however, he was missed by his shipmates,
and being, it seems, for some reason a huge favorite with them,
they raised a cry of "Bulkington! Bulkington! where's Bulkington?"
and darted out of the house in pursuit of him.

It was now about nine o'clock, and the room seeming almost
supernaturally quiet after these orgies, I began to congratulate
myself upon a little plan that had occurred to me just previous
to the entrance of the seamen.

No man prefers to sleep two in a bed. In fact, you would
a good deal rather not sleep with your own brother. I don't know
how it is, but people like to be private when they are sleeping.
And when it comes to sleeping with an unknown stranger,
in a strange inn, in a strange town, and that stranger
a harpooneer, then your objections indefinitely multiply.
Nor was there any earthly reason why I as a sailor should sleep
two in a bed, more than anybody else; for sailors no more
sleep two in a bed at sea, than bachelor Kings do ashore.
To be sure they all sleep together in one apartment, but you
have your own hammock, and cover yourself with your own blanket,
and sleep in your own skin.

The more I pondered over this harpooneer, the more I abominated
the thought of sleeping with him. It was fair to presume that
being a harpooneer, his linen or woollen, as the case might be,
would not be of the tidiest, certainly none of the finest.
I began to twitch all over. Besides, it was getting late,
and my decent harpooneer ought to be home and going bedwards.