But what is this on the chest? I took it up, and held it close to the light, and felt it, and smelt it, and tried every way possible to arrive at some satisfactory conclusion concerning it. I can compare it to nothing but a large door mat, ornamented at the edges with little tinkling tags something like the stained porcupine quills round an Indian moccasin... "Well," said Stubb, helping himself freely meanwhile; "I shall now go back to the subject of this steak. In the first place, how old are you, cook?" "What dat do wid de 'teak," said the old black, testily. "Silence! How old are you, cook?" "'Bout ninety, dey say," he gloomily muttered. "And you have lived in this world hard upon one hundred years, cook, and don't know yet how to cook a whale-steak?" rapidly bolting another mouthful at the last word, so that morsel seemed a continuation of the question. "Where were you born, cook?" "'Hind de hatchway, in ferry-boat, goin' ober de Roanoke." "Born in a ferry-boat! That's queer, too. But I want to know what country you were born in, cook!" "Didn't I say de Roanoke country?" he cried sharply. "No, you didn't, cook; but I'll tell you what I'm coming to, cook. You must go home and be born over again; you don't know how to cook a whale-steak yet." "Bress my soul, if I cook noder one," he growled, angrily, turning round to depart.