"Come here, sir!" "Why you so parsonal dis marning, sar," replied Moonshine, rubbing away at the knifeboard--"my face no shine more dan your white skull widout hair." "I pulled one out, you scoundrel, every time you stole my grog, and now they are all gone.--Hairs; what should I do with heirs when I've nothing to leave," continued Cockle, addressing me--"hairs are like rats, that quit a ship as soon as she gets old. Now, Bob, I wonder how long that rascal will make us wait. I brought him home and gave him his freedom-- but give an inch and he takes an ell. Moonshine, I begin to feel angry--the tip of my nose is red already." "Come directly, Massa Cockle." Moonshine gave two more rubs on the board, and then made his appearance. "You call me, sar?" "What's the use of calling you, you black rascal?" "Now sar, dat not fair--you say to me, Moonshine, always do one thing first--so I 'bey order and finish knives--dat ting done, I come and 'bey next order." "Well, bring some cold water and some tumblers." Moonshine soon appeared with the articles, and then walked out of the room, grinning at me. "Moonshine, where are you going, you thief?--when did you ever see me drink cold water, or offer it to my friend?" "Neber see you drink it but once, and den you tipsy, and tink it gin; but you very often gib notin but water to your friends, Massa Cockle." "When, you scoundrel?" "Why, very often you say dat water quite strong enough for me." "That's because I love you, Moonshine. Grog is a sad enemy to us." "Massa Cockle real fine Christian--he lub him enemy," interrupted Moonshine, looking at me. "At all events, I'm not ashamed to look mine enemy in the face--so hand us out the bottle." Moonshine put the bottle on the table. "Now, Bob," said Cockle, "what d'ye say to a _seven bell-er_? Why, hallo! what's become of all the grog?" "All drank last night, Massa Cockle," replied Moonshine. "Now, you ebony thief, I'll swear that there was half a bottle left when I took my last glass; for I held the bottle up to the candle to ascertain the ullage." "When you go up tairs, Massa Cockle, so help me Gad! not one drop left in de bottle." "Will you take your oath, Moonshine, that you did not drink any last night?" "No, Massa Cockle, because I gentleman, and neber tell lie--me drink, because you gib it to me." "Then I must have been drunk indeed. Now, tell me, how did I give it to you?--tell me every word which passed."