As for Peleg, after letting off his rage as he had, there seemed no more left in him, and he, too, sat down like a lamb, though he twitched a little as if still nervously agitated.

"Whew!" he whistled at last--"the squall's gone off to leeward, I think.

Bildad, thou used to be good at sharpening a lance, mend that pen, will ye.

My jack-knife here needs the grindstone.

That's he; thank ye, Bildad.