"When are they coming back?" I demanded.
"Captain didn't say."
"You seem to take it easily," I flamed up; "but I call it a burning shame! Captain Branscome seems to think that this Island belongs to him; and you know well enough, if it hadn't been for me, he'd never have set eyes on it. What are you going to do?"
"Smoke a pipe," said Mr. Goodfellow, "and watch the beauties o' Nature."
"Well, I'm not," I threatened. "Captain Branscome may be a very good seaman but he's too much of an usher out of school. This isn't Stimcoe's."
"Not a bit like it," assented Mr. Goodfellow, feeling in his pockets.
"And if he thinks he can go on playing the usher over me, he'll find out his mistake. Why, look you, whose is the treasure, properly speaking? Who found it?"
"Nobody, yet."
Mr. Goodfellow drew forth a pipe and rubbed the bowl thoughtfully against his nose.
"Well, then, who found the chart? Who put you all on the scent? Who was it first heard the secret from Captain Coffin? And this man doesn't even consult me—doesn't think me worth a civil word! I'll be shot if I stand it!" I wound up, pacing the deck in my rage.