when the last echo of his sultan’s step has died away, and starbuck, the first emir, has every reason to suppose that he is seated, then starbuck rouses from his quietude, takes a few turns along the planks, and, after a grave peep into the binnacle, says, with some touch of pleasantness, "dinner, mr. stubb," and descends the scuttle. the second emir lounges about the rigging awhile, and then slightly shaking the main brace, to see whether it will be all right with that important rope, he likewise takes up the old burden, and with a rapid "dinner, mr. flask," follows after his predecessors.