But Queequeg, do you see, was a creature in the transition state--
neither caterpillar nor butterfly. He was just enough civilized
to show off his outlandishness in the strangest possible manner.
His education was not yet completed. He was an undergraduate.
If he had not been a small degree civilized, he very probably
would not have troubled himself with boots at all; but then,
if he had not been still a savage, he never would have dreamt
of getting under the bed to put them on. At last, he emerged
with his hat very much dented and crushed down over his eyes,
and began creaking and limping about the room, as if, not being
much accustomed to boots, his pair of damp, wrinkled cowhide ones--
probably not made to order either--rather pinched and tormented
him at the first go off of a bitter cold morning.

Seeing, now, that there were no curtains to the window, and that
the street being very narrow, the house opposite commanded a plain view
into the room, and observing more and more the indecorous figure that
Queequeg made, staving about with little else but his hat and boots on;
I begged him as well as I could, to accelerate his toilet somewhat,
and particularly to get into his pantaloons as soon as possible.
He complied, and then proceeded to wash himself. At that time in
the morning any Christian would have washed his face; but Queequeg,
to my amazement, contented himself with restricting his ablutions
to his chest, arms, and hands. He then donned his waistcoat,
and taking up a piece of hard soap on the wash-stand centre table,
dipped it into water and commenced lathering his face.
I was watching to see where he kept his razor, when lo and behold,
he takes the harpoon from the bed corner, slips out the long
wooden stock, unsheathes the head, whets it a little on his boot,
and striding up to the bit of mirror against the wall,