"What'll ye have?" he growled.
"Well, 'tis this way, cap'n," Silver broached diplomatically. "The crew feels as the fever comes from the ship bein' foul and so long at sea——"
"We ain't been long at sea."
"Maybe not so long from the Rendeyvoo, but we ain't careened or cleaned ship this year."
"Whose fault is that?"
"It ain't nobody's fault. But it do seem as if we'd oughter run into some likely port where we could get sweet water and greens and check the fever before it runs through the crew."
"There's a many ports we could make," commented Flint sarcastically.
"We could allus head up for the island," interposed a man.
"So's ye could go for to dig up the treasure we just stowed away," snorted Flint. "Not if I know it!"
"There ain't been talk o' the island," said Silver hastily. "But what would ye say to the Bermoothes?"