"Ye wouldn't let him now! Master Ormerod! Oh, say ye wouldn't! Ye don't want poor Ben Gunn to be screamin' on the triangle."
"That I don't," I assented warmly. "You must hide us, Ben. Hide us and clean up the cabin, and he'll never know we are aboard."
"Aye, but then?" he asked shrewdly.
"Oh, then 'twill not matter. Nobody will know that you had aught to do with our coming aboard; and indeed Captain Murray will not care, I think. 'Twas not of his own will he gave us to Flint."
"If 'tis so, why don't 'ee go up on the poop and tell the captain now?"
"He'd have to send us back to Captain Flint. You wouldn't like to be sent aboard the Walrus to stay, Ben."
Ben Gunn cocked his head on one side.
"I ain't so sure," he answered. "Maybe Flint would let me wear seaman's gear and tar my hair."
Despite the urgency of our plight I was interested in the humor of the steward's ambition.
"Aren't you satisfied with your lot?" I inquired.