Pauline began to scrutinize half suspiciously this remarkable menial, but he kept stolidly at work at the potatoes, and his dark skin, his scraggly beard, his bagging trousers upturned over bare feet, his general dilapidation of appearance, proved him nothing but one of the common derelicts of the languid islands.
"If you could peel potatoes instead of butchering them, there would be a little more to eat in case we run out of supplies, Filipo," suggested Pauline.
He turned on her a frank American grin. For an instant the twinkle in the keen blue eyes upset her.
It was so, like the twinkle in a pair of keen blue eyes that were supposed to be figuratively weeping for her fate in far-off New York. But instantly he changed his attitude.
"No like cook—cook quit," he grumbled.
"'Oh, no, indeed, Filipo, you must not be offended. I was just speaking to Mr. Owen this morning about raising your salary."
A thick voice came to them from the cabin door.
"I begs to report, Miss," said Blinky Boyd, the pirate, reeling in, "that there be mut'ny in yer crew. Mr. Hicks and Mr. Owen, Miss, has rebelled against me authority and has refused me drink."
"That is an outrage, Mr. Boyd. They do not realize how your nerve-racking adventures have shattered your strength. I will attend to it myself," said Pauline sympathetically. "Filipo, give Mr. Boyd a drink."
"Drink? Yes, meem," replied Filipo, with such unwonted alacrity that
Pauline turned in surprise.