questioned her in an undertone, looking at Mannering--'A shark
alongside, eh?'

She answered in the same tone of under-dialogue, using the cant
language of her tribe--'Cut ben whids, and stow them; a gentry
cove of the ken.' [Footnote: Meaning--Stop your uncivil language;
that is a gentleman from the house below.]

The fellow's cloudy visage cleared up. 'The top of the morning to
you, sir; I find you are a visitor of my friend Mr. Bertram. I beg
pardon, but I took you for another sort of a person.'

Mannering replied, 'And you, sir, I presume, are the master of
that vessel in the bay?'

'Ay, ay, sir; I am Captain Dirk Hatteraick, of the Yungfrauw
Hagenslaapen, well known on this coast; I am not ashamed of my
name, nor of my vessel--no, nor of my cargo neither for that
matter.'

'I daresay you have no reason, sir.'

'Tausend donner, no; I'm all in the way of fair trade. Just loaded
yonder at Douglas, in the Isle of Man--neat cogniac--real hyson
and souchong--Mechlin lace, if you want any--right cogniac--we
bumped ashore a hundred kegs last night.'

'Really, sir, I am only a traveller, and have no sort of occasion
for anything of the kind at present.'