"That you, John?" growled a voice.
"Aye, aye, Bill. Where's the captain?"
"Gone off in the jollyboat. That 'ere Spanish Irisher is a-waitin' him aboard."
I heard Silver curse under his breath.
"What was you sayin', John?" asked the other man.
"What I was sayin' don't signify, but what I was thinkin' was that there's a deal o' mystery in this business," answered Silver with an edge to his tone. "But there! Why should I consarn myself as am no more'n quartermaster o' the old Walrus? You're Flint's mate, Bill, and if it don't tickle your dignity to risk your neck without knowin' what the stake is, why should I complain?"
The other man, whom I now identified as the very brown-faced fellow who had been sitting with Darby in the Whale's Head, replied with a string of oaths.
"——!" he wound up. "Flint hisself don't know much more'n you and me."
"He'll take a lot for a sizzlin', gut-cuttin' fire-eater," rejoined Silver. "I'm —— if I'd eat the humble-pie as is his reg'lar diet. Look at what we been through already! First off we leaves a safe hangout and a rich cruisin'-ground by Madagascar. Then we barges off from an ekally safe lay on the Main. And his bloomin' lordship, not trustin' his own crew, calls a fo'csle council aboard the Walrus and asks for volunteers to go with him into New York!"
"No, no," struck in Bones—I could tell him by his voice, which was of a peculiarly hectoring, rasping timbre. "'Twas Flint would have him take Walrus men along, not trustin' what he was up to. I heard what was said, John, for Flint had me into the cabin at the end.