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Updated: June 2, 2025
But Queequeg, he had a mortal, barbaric smack of the lip in eating an ugly sound enough so much so, that the trembling Dough-Boy almost looked to see whether any marks of teeth lurked in his own lean arms.
In outer aspect, Pip and Dough-Boy made a match, like a black pony and a white one, of equal developments, though of dissimilar color, driven in one eccentric span.
But Queequeg, he had a mortal, barbaric smack of the lip in eating an ugly sound enough so much so, that the trembling Dough-Boy almost looked to see whether any marks of teeth lurked in his own lean arms.
I guess he's got what some folks ashore call a conscience; it's a kind of Tic-Dolly-row they say worse nor a toothache. Well, well; I don't know what it is, but the Lord keep me from catching it. He's full of riddles; I wonder what he goes into the after hold for, every night, as Dough-Boy tells me he suspects; what's that for, I should like to know? Who's made appointments with him in the hold?
"It was not me," cried Dough-Boy, "it was Aunt Charity that brought the ginger on board; and bade me never give the harpooneers any spirits, but only this ginger-jub so she called it." "Ginger-jub! you gingerly rascal! take that! and run along with ye to the lockers, and get something better. I hope I do no wrong, Mr. Starbuck. It is the captain's orders grog for the harpooneer on a whale."
The Sperm Whale blows as a clock ticks, with the same undeviating and reliable uniformity. And thereby whalemen distinguish this fish from other tribes of his genus. "There go flukes!" was now the cry from Tashtego; and the whales disappeared. "Quick, steward!" cried Ahab. "Time! time!" Dough-Boy hurried below, glanced at the watch, and reported the exact minute to Ahab.
Fortunately you didn't have to say that many not on the pay of a dough-boy, put in a plumber from up-state in New York. For his part, he did not bother to grunt he would make drinking motions or eating motions, and they would bring him things till they found what he wanted.
Didn't that Dough-Boy, the steward, tell me that of a morning he always finds the old man's hammock clothes all rumpled and tumbled, and the sheets down at the foot, and the coverlid almost tied into knots, and the pillow a sort of frightful hot, as though a baked brick had been on it? A hot old man!
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