The goldsmith seemed to think, and his cogitation made him smile.
“Tolerably,” he said. “I’m not exactly amphibious, but I’d float, I’d float, I believe,” and he looked at his portly figure.
“Are you good with an oar?”
“Pretty moderate,” said Tresco, trying to think which end of the boat he would face while pulling.
“And you’ve got pluck, I hope?”
“I hope,” said the goldsmith.
“To be plain with you, Tresco, I’ve need of the services of such a man as yourself, reliable, silent, staunch, and with just enough of the devil in him to make him face the music.”
Benjamin scratched his head, and wondered what was coming.
“You want a hundred pounds,” said the merchant.
“A hundred and fifty badly,” said the goldsmith.