I pitied him from
the bottom of my heart--but could not, for that reason, quite
forgive his incommunicativeness in the matter of the "Last Supper."
For this I resolved to have my revenge.
One day he came upon deck, and, taking his arm as had been my wont,
I sauntered with him backward and forward. His gloom, however
(which I considered quite natural under the circumstances), seemed
entirely unabated. He said little, and that moodily, and with
evident effort. I ventured a jest or two, and he made a sickening
attempt at a smile. Poor fellow!--as I thought of HIS WIFE, I
wondered that he could have heart to put on even the semblance of
mirth. At last I ventured a home thrust. I determined to commence
a series of covert insinuations, or innuendoes, about the oblong
box--just to let him perceive, gradually, that I was NOT altogether
the butt, or victim, of his little bit of pleasant mystification.
My first observation was by way of opening a masked battery. I
said something about the "peculiar shape of THAT box--,"and, as I
spoke the words, I smiled knowingly, winked, and touched him gently
with my forefinger in the ribs.
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