Abraham is one of the parties that Mr.
Talmage, of Brooklyn, is going to embrace, and kiss, and weep on,
when he comes. He wants to lay in a good stock of tears, you know,
or five to one he will go dry before he gets a chance to do it."
"Sandy," says I, "I had an idea that _I_ was going to be equals
with everybody here, too, but I will let that drop. It don't
matter, and I am plenty happy enough anyway."
"Captain, you are happier than you would be, the other way. These
old patriarchs and prophets have got ages the start of you; they
know more in two minutes than you know in a year. Did you ever try
to have a sociable improving-time discussing winds, and currents
and variations of compass with an undertaker?"
"I get your idea, Sandy. He couldn't interest me. He would be an
ignoramus in such things--he would bore me, and I would bore him."
"You have got it. You would bore the patriarchs when you talked,
and when they talked they would shoot over your head. By and by
you would say, 'Good morning, your Eminence, I will call again'--
but you wouldn't. Did you ever ask the slush-boy to come up in the
cabin and take dinner with you?"
"I get your drift again, Sandy. I wouldn't be used to such grand
people as the patriarchs and prophets, and I would be sheepish and
tongue-tied in their company, and mighty glad to get out of it.
Sandy, which is the highest rank, patriarch or prophet?"
"Oh, the prophets hold over the patriarchs.
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