"Come a-visitin', captain?" Silver inquired cheerfully. "Mighty kind o' ye, sir, seein' as how most o' our lads is a bit the worse for liquor and blood-lettin'. My duty to ye, Master Ormerod. I hopes I sees you and your friend well?"
"Blood-letting?" repeated Murray, ignoring the balance of his remarks. "The old story, eh? Well, well! You'll never learn. How many for the sailmaker's palm and needle?"
"Three, captain. And main lucky we are as——"
Flint lurched up beside him.
"Stow that, John," growled his captain. "I'll do the talkin'. What's your trouble, Murray?"
My great-uncle took a pinch of snuff with his inimitable knack of expressing acute disgust without moving a muscle of his face.
"I have been a-hunting," he replied. "Shooting for the pot. We stopped on the way to our boat to pass the time o' day with you, Flint."
Flint snorted
"Time o' day! ——! 'Tain't like you to take the trouble."
"I am a person of most uncertain proclivities," replied my great-uncle. "I hear from Silver that last night's episode was accompanied by the usual fatalities."