"Ben," Roger said, coming to me where I sat on the forecastle, "I want to talk to you. Step over by the mast."
I followed him, though surprised.
"Here we can see on all sides," he said. "There are no hiding-places within earshot. Ben"—He hesitated as if to find the right words.
All were watching us now, the captain and the mate from the quarter-deck, the others from wherever they happened to be.
"I am loath to draw your sister's younger brother into danger," Roger began. His adjective was tactfully chosen. "I am almost equally reluctant to implicate you in what seems likely to confront us, because you are an old friend of mine and a good deal younger than I am. But when the time comes to go home, Ben, I'm sure we want to be able to look your sister and all the others squarely in the eyes, with our hands clean and our consciences clear—if we go home. How about it, Ben?"
I was too bewildered to answer, and in Roger's eyes something of his old twinkle appeared.
"Ultimately," he continued, grave once more and speaking still in enigmas, "we shall be vindicated in any case. But I fear that, before then, I, for one, shall have to clasp hands with mutiny, perhaps with piracy. How would you like that, Ben, with a thundering old fight against odds, a fight that likely enough will leave us to sleep forever on one of these green islands hereabouts?"
Still I did not understand.
Roger regarded me thoughtfully. "Tell me all that you know about our cargo."
"Why," said I, finding my tongue at last, "it's ginseng and woollen goods for Canton. That's all I know."