heads around town?--but turn flukes again and go to sleep.
Queequeg, look here--you sabbee me, I sabbee--you this man
sleepe you--you sabbee?"

"Me sabbee plenty"--grunted Queequeg, puffing away at his pipe
and sitting up in bed.

"You gettee in," he added, motioning to me with his tomahawk,
and throwing the clothes to one side. He really did this
in not only a civil but a really kind and charitable way.
I stood looking at him a moment. For all his tattooings
he was on the whole a clean, comely looking cannibal.
What's all this fuss I have been making about, thought I
to myself--the man's a human being just as I am: he has just
as much reason to fear me, as I have to be afraid of him.
Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.

"Landlord," said I, "tell him to stash his tomahawk there, or pipe,
or whatever you call it; tell him to stop smoking, in short, and I will
turn in with him. But I don't fancy having a man smoking in bed with me.
It's dangerous. Besides, I ain't insured."

This being told to Queequeg, he at once complied, and again politely
motioned me to get into bed--rolling over to one side as much as to say--
I won't touch a leg of ye."

"Good night, landlord," said I, "you may go."

I turned in, and never slept better in my life.