[H]e is a ‘blokes bloke’. A proper bloke, rather than something feminine or obviously dysfunctional.

The composition of the following note did not occupy him half an hour: — Major von Wismar lets himself a thousand times be greased, and fears him the unweather shall defend for to day the premeditated walk on horseback, which Madame ― graciously vowed him for half three of the hour.

And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones—so goes the story—to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?

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