“Heigho,” said the boatswain, yawning. “I sha'n't have much to spend on Hollands when I get there. Them rubbers at bowls in London have pretty near cleaned my purse out.”
“Ah, come off,” said the carpenter. “You can always get rid of a coil of rope to someone, on the sly, you boatswains can. A coil of rope comes to a few guilders. Eh, mynheer?”
“I sold too many coils off this hooker,” said the boatswain. “I run the ship short.”
“Who sleeps in the hammock there?” the carpenter asked.
“The loblolly boy for the cabin,” the boatswain answered. “Young clumsy hound. I clumped his fat chops for him this morning.”
“Mr. Jermyn's boy?” said the carpenter, sinking his voice. “There's something queer about that Mr. Jermyn. 'E wears a false beard. That Mr. Scott isn't all what he pretends neither.”
“I don't see how that can be,” the boatswain said, “I wish I'd a drink of something. I'm as dry as foul block.”
“There'd be more'n a dram to us two, if Mr. Scott was what I think,” said the carpenter. “I'm going to keep my eye on that gang.”
“Keep your eye on the moon,” said the boatswain.
“I tell you what'd raise drinks pretty quick.”
“Eh?” said the carpenter. “Go easy, Joe. He may be awake.”
“Not he,” said the boatswain, carelessly glancing into my hammock, where I lay like all the Seven Sleepers condensed. “Not he. Snoring young hound. Do him good to raise drinks for the crowd.”
“Eh,” said the carpenter, a quieter, more cautious scoundrel than the other (therefore much more dangerous). “How would a boy like that?” He left his sentence unfinished.
“Sell him to one of these Dutch East India merchants,” said the boatswain. “There's always one or two of them in the Canal, bound for Java. A likely young lad like that would fetch twenty pounds from a Dutch skipper. A white boy would sell for forty in the East. Even if we only got ten, there'd be pretty drinking while it lasted.”
This evidently made an impression on the carpenter, for he did not answer at once. “Yes,” he said presently. “But a lad like that's got good friends. He don't talk like you or I, Joe.”
“Friends in your eye,” said the other. “What's a lad with good friends doing as loblolly boy?”
“Run away,” the carpenter said. “Besides, Mr. Jermyn isn't likely to let the lad loose in Haarlem.”