The moon lifted herself
slowly over the crest of Deadwood Hill, and looked down, not
unkindly, on his broad, white, shaven face, round and smooth as her
own disc, encircled with a thin fringe of white hair and whiskers.
Indeed, he looked so like the prevailing caricatures in a comic
almanac of planets, with dimly outlined features, that the moon
would have been quite justified in flirting with him, as she
clearly did, insinuating a twinkle into his keen, gray eyes, making
the shadow of a dimple on his broad, fat chin, and otherwise
idealizing him after the fashion of her hero-worshiping sex.
Touched by these benign influences, Captain Dick presently broke
forth in melody. His song was various, but chiefly, I think,
confined to the recital of the exploits of one "Lorenzo," who, as
related by himself,--
"Shipped on board of a Liner,
'Renzo, boys, Renzo,"--
a fact that seemed to have deprived him at once of all metre,
grammar, or even the power of coherent narration. At times a groan
or a half-articulate cry would come from the "bunk" whereon Roger
Catron lay, a circumstance that always seemed to excite Captain
Dick to greater effort and more rapid vocalization.
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