“Well, there’s the other bag of doubloons. It seems Stephen could not get it. That’s odd, too, for he’s great at grabbin’ gold. The man bears his age well; but he’s a willian! I wonder whether he or Mulford made that half-board in the narrow channel. It was well done, and Stephen is a perfect sailor; but he says Mulford is the same. Nice young man, that Mulford; just fit for Rose, and Rose for him. Pity to part them. Can find no great fault with him, except that he has too much conscience. There’s such a thing as having too much, as well as too little conscience. Mulford has too much, and Spike has too little. For him to think of carryin’ off a gal of nineteen! I say he’s fifty-six, if he’s a day. How fond he used to be of this very soup. If I’ve seen him eat a quart of it, I’ve seen him eat a puncheon full of it, in my time. What an appetite the man has when he’s had a hard day’s duty on’t! There’s a great deal to admire, and a great deal to like in Stephen Spike, but he’s a reg’lar willian. I dare say he fancies himself a smart, jaunty youth ag’in, as I can remember him; a lad of twenty, which was about his years when I first saw him, by the sign that I was very little turned of fifteen myself. Spike _was_ comely then, though I acknowledge he’s a willian. I can see him now, with his deep blue roundabout, his bell-mouthed trowsers, both of fine cloth—too fine for such a willian—but fine it was, and much did it become him.” Here Jack made a long pause, during which, though he may have thought much, he said nothing. Nevertheless, he wasn’t idle the while. On the contrary, he passed no less than three several times from the fire to the tent, and returned. Each time, in going and coming, he looked intently at the bag of doubloons, though he did not stop at it or touch it. Some associations connected with Spike’s fruitless attempts to obtain it must have formed its principal interest with this singular being, as he muttered his captain’s name each time in passing, though he said no more audibly. The concerns of the dinner carried him back and forth; and in his last visit to the tent, he began to set a small table—one that had been brought for the convenience of Mrs. Budd and her niece, from the brig, and which of course still remained on the islet. It was while thus occupied, that Jack Tier recommenced his soliloquy.