"There is another word," returned Sweetwater, "which he bade me give you by word of mouth; but that word don't go for nothing. It's worth just twenty-five dollars. I've earned it, sir. I came up from New Bedford on purpose to deliver it to you."
Sweetwater expected a blow, but he only got a stare.
"Twenty-five dollars," muttered the captain. "Well, it's fortunate that I have them. And who are you?" he asked. "Not one of Campbell's pick-ups, surely?"
"I am a confidential messenger," smiled Sweetwater, amused against his will at finding a name for himself. "I carry messages and execute commissions that require more or less discretion in the handling. I am paid well. Twenty-five dollars is the price of this job."
"So you have had the honour of informing me before," blustered the other with an attempt to hide some serious emotion. "Why, man, what do you fear? Don't you see I'm hurt? You could knock me over with a feather if you touched my game arm."
"Twenty-five dollars," repeated Sweetwater.
The captain grew angrier. "Dash it! aren't you going to have them?
What's the word?"
But Sweetwater wasn't going to be caught by chaff.
"C. O. D.," he insisted firmly, standing his ground, though certain that the blow would now fall. But no, the captain laughed, and tugging away with his one free hand at his pocket, he brought out a pocket-book, from which he managed deftly enough to draw out three bills. "There," said he, laying them on the table, but keeping one long vigorous finger on them. "Now, the word."
Sweetwater laid his own hand on the bills.