OLIVER (annoyed). Shut up, Jill! A brigantine? Ah yes, a rakish craft, eh, Commodore?
PIRATE (earnestly). Extremely rakish.
OLIVER. And how many pieces of eight have you?
PIRATE. Nine thousand.
OLIVER. Ah! (To JILL) What's nine times eight?
JILL (to herself). Nine times eight.
OLIVER (to himself). Nine times eight.
PIRATE (to himself). Nine times eight.
JILL. Seventy-two.
PIRATE. I made it seventy-one, but I expect you're right.