'What cheer, brother?
you seem on the outlook, eh ?' Ere Mannering, somewhat struck by the man's gesture and insolent tone of voice, had made any answer, the gipsy emerged from her vault and joined the stranger.

He questioned her in an undertone, looking at Mannering--'A shark alongside, eh ?' She answered in the same tone of under-dialogue, using the cant language of her tribe--'Cut ben whids, and stow them; a gentry cove of the ken.' [Footnote: Meaning--Stop your uncivil language; that is a gentleman from the house below.] The fellow's cloudy visage cleared up.

'The top of the morning to you, sir; I find you are a visitor of my friend Mr.Bertram.I beg pardon, but I took you for another sort of a person.' Mannering replied, 'And you, sir, I presume, are the master of that vessel in the bay ?' 'Ay, ay, sir; I am Captain Dirk Hatteraick, of the Yungfrauw Hagenslaapen, well known on this coast; I am not ashamed of my name, nor of my vessel--no, nor of my cargo neither for that matter.' 'I daresay you have no reason, sir.' 'Tausend donner, no; I'm all in the way of fair trade.

Just loaded yonder at Douglas, in the Isle of Man--neat cogniac--real hyson and souchong--Mechlin lace, if you want any--right cogniac--we bumped ashore a hundred kegs last night.' 'Really, sir, I am only a traveller, and have no sort of occasion for anything of the kind at present.' 'Why, then, good-morning to you, for business must be minded--unless ye'll go aboard and take schnaps; you shall have a pouch-full of tea ashore.

Dirk Hatteraick knows how to be civil.' There was a mixture of impudence, hardihood, and suspicious fear about this man which was inexpressibly disgusting.