He lowered his voice.
"D'ye see this lopsided carcass of mine now? You do, says you. Yes, yes; there ain't no mistakin' a one-legged man. And how do you suppose I lost my left stick, eh? Can't say, says you—nor it ain't strange, seein' as we've never met afore this.
"Well, I'll tell ye, sir. You ha' a young face, and kind, and I can see you take an interest in an unfortunate sailor-man's sorrows—aye, and this good lad wi' ye, too—from Ireland, ain't ye, my hearty? I knowed it, I knowed it!
"But what was I a-sayin'? Oh, yes, to be sure. I was tellin' ye of my lost leg—and glad I am it wasn't my flipper as went. 'Cause why, says you? 'Cause a man can set himself to makin' good a lost leg, which ain't no use for nothin' except walking.
"But a hand now? Figger it out, my master! No hand, and ye can't work, ye can't fight, ye can't scarcely eat. That's why I says I'm lucky."
The man attracted me by his originality, and I own frankly I would have pressed him for further information whether Darby had been with me or not; but 'twas Darby brought him back to the main point of interest.
"Did ye see the pirates?" panted the lad in excitement.
John Silver drew himself erect upon his crutch and frowned out at the shot-scarred brig.
"See 'em?" he repeated. "Well now, my lad, that depends. Aye, aye, it all depends.
"This last time, d'ye mean? No, I can't conscientiously say I seen 'em this time. In the matter o' my leg 'twas different—and the time Flint marooned me."