"There ain't any, captain," said Job, sullenly. "The men won't work; they say if you want all the profit, you may do the work, and take the risk yourself. 'Sides, they're cantankerous, captain, about another matter."
"What else?"
"They wants to know what's done with Maester Leicester."
"What!" sneered the captain. "Actually sentimental, are they? They want to know what's become of that idiot? I can tell you, and I'd have told you six months ago if I'd thought it would have interested you! He's gone where all such as he should go—out of the world! He's dead, rotting at the bottom of the sea!"
"Fetch Sanderson," said the captain, after a moment's pause, and with the air of a slave owner to a slave.
Job stepped out and returned with Willie, who had been among those standing outside.
Job had evidently told him that Leicester was dead, for Willie's face was cool, as well as sullen.
"Sanderson," said the captain, "you are a good fellow and no fool, or I am much mistaken. What does this mean with the men? Do they refuse to run the cargoes?"
"We do," said Willie, sullenly.
The captain took up his hat.