The Story of a Bad Boy

age to Boston, for after the first fe

d one quarter of the Typhoon, and that is why we happened to go in her. I tried to guess which quarter of the ship he owned, and finally concluded it must be the hind

ention) through a battered tin trumpet, and grew so red in the face that he reminded me of a scooped-out pumpkin with a lighted candle inside. H

rum below, And hurrah

ten tar in particular struck my fancy -- a thick-set, jovial man, about fifty years of age, with twinkling blue eyes and a fringe of gray hair circling his head l

ill was a picture of enviable loveliness painted on his left arm. It was the head of a woman with the body of a fish. Her flowing hair was of livid green, and she held a pin

gside the Typhoon. It was ridiculously small and conceited, compared with our stately ship. I speculated as to what it was going to do. In a few minu

larger than itself. I could not help thinking of it, when I found the chub

winged bird. Only it didn't seem as if we were moving. The shore, with the countless steamboats, the

s of low swampy land, covered with stunted cypress trees, from which drooped delicate streamers of Spanish moss -- a fine place for alliga

ity, To see the city, Tom," said my fathe

n the distance, and the dome of the St. Charles Hotel, upon which the sun sh

steam-tug had long since let slip her hawsers and gone panting away with a derisive

d off like a vain turkey. I had been standing by my father near the wheel-house all this while, observing things with t

s that made it a matter of uncertainty whether one was going to put his fork to his mouth or into his eye. The tumblers and wineglasses, stuck in a rack over the table, kept clinking and clink

; and all of these, excepting a bald-headed old gentleman -- a retired sea-c

eping the men in the proper places. Just at the most exciting point of the game, the ship would careen, and down would go the white checkers pell-mell among the black. Then my father laughed,

lease," I said, laying my band on my fat

were placed on a narrow shelf at my feet, and it was a great comfort to me to know that my pistol was so handy, for I made no doubt we should fall in with Pirates before many hours. This

ression that my father used to climb up to the berth and call me his "Ancient Mariner," bidding me cheer up. But the Ancient Mariner was far from cheering up, if I recollect rightly; and I don't believ

board, and which had suggested to me the idea of Pirates. Bang! went the gun again in a few seconds. I made a feeble effort to get at my tro

right now, "only a little shaky in my timbers and a little blue about the gills," as Captain Truc

xcuse me"; so we were nearly two days in making the run which in favorable

h the green-haired lady on his arm. I found him in the forecastle -- a sort of cellar in the front part of t

is birth. He had served under Decatur when that gallant officer peppered the Algerines and made them promise not to sell their prisoners of war into slavery; he had worked a gu

I remarked, "that you

e blue Typhooner," he added, which increased my respect for him; I don't know why,

isclosed to him that my name was Tom Bailey, u

lovely blue hands clasped on his breast, and I've no doubt that other parts of his body were illustrated in the same agreeable manner. I imagine he was fond of drawings, and took this means of gratifying his

d bells on her toes" -- was acco

mbstone. This caused me to think of my parting with old Aunt Chloe, and I told him I should take it as a great favor indeed if he would paint a pink hand and a black hand on my chest. He said th

to the forecastle, and was on the point of complying with my request, when my father happ

with Sailor Ben, for the next morning, bright and early,