Моби Дик

The Spouter-Inn

           thenight.

           Thedevilfetchthatharpooneer,thoughtI,butstop,couldn’tIstealamarchonhim—bolthisdoorinside,andjumpintohisbed,nottobewakenedbythemostviolentknockings?ItseemednobadideabutuponsecondthoughtsIdismissedit.Forwhocouldtellbutwhatthenextmorning,sosoonasIpoppedoutoftheroom,theharpooneermightbestandingintheentry,allreadytoknockmedown!

           Stilllookingroundmeagain,andseeingnopossiblechanceofspendingasufferablenightunlessinsomeotherperson’sbed,IbegantothinkthatafterallImightbecherishingunwarrantableprejudicesagainstthisunknownharpooneer.ThinksI,I’llwaitawhile;hemustbedroppinginbeforelong.I’llhaveagoodlookathimthen,andperhapswemaybecomejollygoodbedfellowsafterall—there’snotelling.

           Butthoughtheotherboarderskeptcominginbyones,twos,andthrees,andgoingtobed,yetnosignofmyharpooneer.

           "Landlord!saidI,"whatsortofachapishe—doeshealwayskeepsuchlatehours?"Itwasnowhardupontwelveo’clock.

           Thelandlordchuckledagainwithhisleanchuckle,andseemedtobemightilytickledatsomethingbeyondmycomprehension."No,"heanswered,"generallyhe’sanearlybird—airleytobedandairleytorise—yea,he’sthebirdwhatcatchestheworm.Butto-nighthewentoutapeddling,yousee,andIdon’tseewhatonairthkeepshimsolate,unless,maybe,hecan’tsellhishead."

           "Can’tsellhishead?—Whatsortofabamboozinglystoryisthisyouaretellingme?"gettingintoatoweringrage."Doyoupretendtosay,landlord,thatthisharpooneerisactuallyengagedthisblessedSaturdaynight,or

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