“You might persuade a world!” cried Harry, with strong admiration expressed in his countenance; after which he began to converse with Rose, on a subject so interesting to themselves that we do not think it prudent to relate any more of the discourse, forgetting all about the guns. About four o’clock, of a fine summer’s afternoon, the Swash went through the Race, on the best of the ebb, and with a staggering south-west wind. Her movement by the land, just at that point, could not have been less than at the rate of fifteen miles in the hour. Spike was in high spirits, for his brig had got on famously that day, and there was nothing in sight to the eastward. He made no doubt, as he had told his mate, that the steamer had gone into the Vineyard Sound, and that she was bound over the shoals. “They want to make political capital, out of her,” he added, using one of the slang phrases that the “business habits” of the American people are so fast, and so rapidly incorporating with the common language of the country—“They want to make political capital out of her, Harry, and must show her off to the Boston folk, who are full of notions. Well, let them turn her to as much account in that way, as they please, so long as they keep her clear of the Molly. Your sarvant, Madam Budd”—addressing the widow, who just at that moment came on deck—“a fine a’ternoon, and likely to be a clear night to run off the coast in.” “Clear nights are desirable, and most of all at sea, Capt. Spike,” returned the relict, in her best, complacent, manner, “whether it be to run _off_ a coast, or to run _on_ a coast. In either case, a clear night, or a bright moon must be useful.” Capt. Spike rolled his tobacco over in his mouth, and cast a furtive glance at the mate, but he did not presume to hazard any further manifestations of his disposition to laugh. “Yes, Madam Budd,” he answered, “it is quite as you say, and I am only surprised where you have picked up so much of what I call useful nautical knowledge.” “We live and learn, sir. You will recollect that this is not my first voyage, having made one before, and that I passed a happy, happy, thirty years in the society of my poor, dear husband, Rose’s uncle. One must have been dull, indeed, not to have picked up, from such a companion, much of a calling that was so dear to him, and the particulars of which were so very dear to him. He actually gave me lessons in the ‘sea dialect,’ as he called it, which probably is the true reason I am so accurate and general in my acquisitions.” “Yes, Madam Budd—yes—hem—you are—yes, you are wonderful in that way. We shall soon get an offing, now, Madam Budd—yes, soon get an offing, now.” “And take in our departure, Capt. Spike—” added the widow with a very intelligent smile.