Moby Dick

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it? A hot old man! 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? Ain't that queer, now? But there's no telling, it's the old
game--Here goes for a snooze. Damn me, it's worth a fellow's while to be
born into the world, if only to fall right asleep. And now that I think
of it, that's about the first thing babies do, and that's a sort of
queer, too. Damn me, but all things are queer, come to think of 'em. But
that's against my principles. Think not, is my eleventh commandment; and
sleep when you can, is my twelfth--So here goes again. But how's that?
didn't he call me a dog? blazes! he called me ten times a donkey, and
piled a lot of jackasses on top of THAT! He might as well have kicked
me, and done with it. Maybe he DID kick me, and I didn't observe it,
I was so taken all aback with his brow, somehow. It flashed like a