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"Captain Trigger hasn't got the backbone of a fishworm. He'd let you tell him to go to hell and never think of jacking you up for it. No wonder we're in the fix we're in now. If he'd had the sense of a jelly-fish he'd have Here! Sit still! You'll upset the boat, you fool! What What are you going to do with that oar?"
This voice, suddenly evolving out of the darkness at Bobby's side, ejaculated with supreme disgust: "Well, what do you think of that! Why, that fat little fishworm of a Dago is actually gone bug-house over Miss McGinnis," a fact which had been obvious to all of them the minute small Ricardo began to sing his wonderful love song to large Caravaggio.
David stared but shook his head. "I'm not going to be a performer," he said, with a wry smile at the thought of "fishworm oil." "Well, that bein' the case, have you got any chewin' about yer clothes?" "Chewing?" murmured David. "Fine cut er plug, I don't care." "I don't chew tobacco," said David stiffly. "Oh," said the man in amaze. "A reg'lar little Robert Reed, eh? Well, hop inside there.
Then he closed the door, and finding a padlock and hasp on it, he locked him in. Two of the three men who had remained on board of the schooner were now prisoners; and Sopsy was considered as harmless as a fishworm. French had hardly reported what he had done before the three short whistles were sounded, and Christy gave the order to heave up the anchor.
Some thirty years ago, when he was comparatively a young man, I saw, at the Bartholdi exhibition in New York, a picture by this master of these same coryphées, two figures standing together in the flies resting their weary, pink, fishworm legs as they balanced themselves with their hands against the wabbling scenery.
"What kin I do with her?" whined Jeff. "Do with her? You kin make her mind. That's your duty. You're the head o' the fambly." "Head o' the fambly?" groaned Jeff, in mournful sarcasm. "Mister, you don't seem to be acquainted with 'Frony. "Head o' the fambly," sneered his wife. "He aint the head o' nothin'. Not the head o' a pin. He haint no more head'n a fishworm."
"Where is Mrs. Braddock?" he asked. "Train ain't in yet. You don't suppose the highlights travel this away, do you? Well, nix, I should say not. Say, are you goin' to learn the business? If you are, I got some fishworm oil that's jest the thing to limber up yer joints. In two weeks, if you rub this oil of mine all over you reg'lar, you c'n bend double three ways." It was an old game.
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