"Well, Arthur?" I said.
"I read the whole book, sir--there it is, on the table. That book just
did get me. But what did become of Pym and Peters? And is it true you've
found that old soc-doligin' pirate?"
I told him that Peters was found.
"Well, now!" he continued. "I'd like to see the old four-foot-eighter.
But if you love me, tell me what that white curtain reachin' down from
the sky was, and what made the ocean bilin' hot? What made them
ante-artic niggers so 'fraid of everything white, and what was the
hiryglificks on the black marble meant to say? And, most of all, who was
the female that stood in the way of the boat? Say--I don't blame
anybody--but if Mr. Poe knowed he didn't know these points, what did he
get our mouths waterin' for? Did you find out these points yet?"
I explained to him that probably at that very moment Doctor Bainbridge
was sitting on the edge of Dirk Peters' cot, drinking in the wonderful
story; and that as soon as a certain gentleman had called to see me, I
expected to return to Peters' house, and to remain until we knew all.
"Go slow," said Arthur, "and don't fall down on any importing points.
Better take time, and catch everything. I asked Doctor Castleton last
night what made that ocean bile; and he said he guessed the mouth of
hell was down that way, and Satin had just opened the door to air out.
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