"Hold on, Bumpus; let the miserable rascal go." John stopped, looked over his shoulder, hesitated, and finally came back, with a rolling air of nautical indifference, and his hands thrust into his breeches pockets.
"You know best, capting," said he; "but I think it a pity to let sich a dirty varmint go clear off, to dodge about in the bushes, and mayhap treat us to a poisoned arrow, or a spear thrust on the sly.
Howsomedever, it ain't no consarn wotever to Jo Bumpus.

How's your beak, Dick, my boy ?" "None the better for your askin'," replied the surly mariner, who was tenderly stroking the injured member of his face with the fingers of both hands.
"Come, Dick, it is none the worse of being inquired after," said Henry, laughing.

"But 'tis as well to let the fellow go.

He knows best how to cure his wound, by the application of a few simples; and by thus making off has relieved us of the trouble and responsibility of trying our hands at civilized doctoring.

Besides, John Bumpus (if that's your name,--though I do think your father might have found you a better), your long legs would never have brought you within a mile of the savage." "Young man," retorted Jo, gravely, "I'd have you to know that the family of the Bumpuses is an old and a honorable one.