the hurricane deck, with brass bunks and plush carpets and crocheted
curtains and electric lights. I swan there was looking glasses in every
corner--big ones, man's size. I remember Cap'n Jonadab hollering to me
that night when he was getting ready to turn in:

"For the land's sake, Barzilla!" says he, "turn out them lights, will
you? I ain't over'n' above bashful, but them looking glasses make me
feel's if I was undressing along with all hands and the cook."

The house was full of comp'ny, and more kept coming all the time.
Swells! don't talk! We felt 'bout as much at home as a cow in a dory,
but we was there 'cause Ebenezer had asked us to be there, so we kept on
the course and didn't signal for help. Travelling through the rooms down
stairs where the folks was, was a good deal like dodging icebergs up on
the Banks, but one or two noticed us enough to dip the colors, and one
was real sociable. He was a kind of slow-spoken city-feller, dressed as
if his clothes was poured over him hot and then left to cool. His
last name had a splice in the middle of it--'twas Catesby-Stuart.
Everybody--that is, most everybody--called him "Phil."

Well, sir, Phil cottoned to Jonadab and me right away. He'd get us, one
on each wing, and go through that house asking questions. He pumped me
and Jonadab dry about how we come to be there, and told us more yarns
than a few 'bout Dillaway, and how rich he was. I remember he said that
he only wished he had the keys to the cellar so he could show us the
money-bins. Said Ebenezer was so just--well, rotten with money, as you
might say, that he kept it in bins down cellar, same as poor folks
kept coal--gold in one bin, silver half-dollars in another, quarters in
another, and so on. When he needed any, he'd say to a servant: "James,
fetch me up a hod of change." This was only one of the fish yarns he