Bones pulled a stiff, crackling sheet of map-paper from his breast, and waved it in the air.
"Here's the map," he declared. "Long John there was a'ter it, but Flint give it to me, as he says."
"Sure I says it, Bill," proceeded Silver, undisturbed. "But what I says, too, is as we'd oughter have a 'lection as the Articles provide."
A murmur of assent greeted this declaration. Bones scowled.
"'Tain't necessary," he returned. "I'm mate, and I'm the only real navigator ye got. But go ahead and 'lect whoever ye please—only remember I got the treasure-map."
"Yes, you got the treasure-map, Bill," agreed Silver, and his voice somehow became more hateful than ever. "But we don't allow as it's yours, ye know. You're what the lawyer sharks calls a trustee. You keeps it for the rest o' us, and we—" he chuckled venomously—"why, we keeps our eyes on you, Bill."
Bones swore.
"Get on wi' the 'lection," he adjured the crew. "Who's to be cap'n? Speak up and name some one!"
A dozen sycophants shouted "Bones," with a vim which inspired him with sweating vanity, and several called out: "Silver!" and "Long John!"
"Anybody else?" challenged Bones.