to-night, cause to-morrow's Sunday, and it would not do to be sellin'
human heads about the streets when folks is goin' to churches.
He wanted to last Sunday, but I stopped him just as he was goin'
out of the door with four heads strung on a string, for all
the airth like a string of inions."

This account cleared up the otherwise unaccountable mystery,
and showed that the landlord, after all, had had no idea of fooling me--
but at the same time what could I think of a harpooneer who stayed
out of a Saturday night clean into the holy Sabbath, engaged in such
a cannibal business as selling the heads of dead idolators?

"Depend upon it, landlord, that harpooneer is a dangerous man."

"He pays reg'lar," was the rejoinder. "But come, it's getting
dreadful late, you had better be turning flukes--it's a nice bed:
Sal and me slept in that ere bed the night we were spliced.
There's plenty of room for two to kick about in that bed;
it's an almighty big bed that. Why, afore we give it up,
Sal used to put our Sam and little Johnny in the foot of it.
But I got a dreaming and sprawling about one night, and somehow,
Sam got pitched on the floor, and came near breaking his arm.
After that, Sal said it wouldn't do. Come along here,
I'll give ye a glim in a jiffy;" and so saying he lighted
a candle and held it towards me, offering to lead the way.
But I stood irresolute; when looking at a clock in the corner,
he exclaimed "I vum it's Sunday--you won't see that harpooneer to-night;
he's come to anchor somewhere--come along then; do come;
won't ye come?"