"One moment," interposed Jenkins. "You ha' not given me the name of my passenger."
"Must you have it?"
"Aye. How else shall I know whom to admit on board?"
"'Tis this youth here."
"He who hath the interest in the Frenchy?" responded Jenkins. "Well, lad, keep your hands off him, despite his insults to your master. And what's your name?"
"Bill," I said in a voice I made as hoarse as I could.
"Bill," he repeated. "'Tis a good plain name. But you must ha' more to it. So the custom officers will say."
"'Tis Juggins," interposed my master. "The lad is a cousin once removed. He goes to seek employment in the New World. To tell the truth, though strong and willing, he is not overburdened with wits. But he can swing an ax as well as any one, and his muscles should bring him good hire on some wilderness farm."
"Aye," agreed Master Jenkins tonelessly.
He wrote the name carefully in his record-book, slipped it back in his coat-tails and returned to his bowl of Mocha. The sucking of his lips was the last sound I heard as we left the table.