“Wake up, master; we 're going to put you ashore here.”
I made no answer: half in recklessness, half in pride, I was silent.
“You 'd better throw my boat-cloak over you. It's blowing fresh, and a heavy sea running,” said he, in a kindly voice.
“Thanks,” said I, declining; “but I 'm little used to care for my comforts. Can I see the skipper?”
“He told me that he preferred not to see you,” said the mate, hesitatingly, “and bade me arrange for putting you ashore myself.”
“It is a question of money—not of politeness—with me,” said I, producing my purse. “Tell me what I owe him.”
“Not a farthing, sir. He 'd not touch a piece of money that belonged to you. He only wants you to go your way, and part company with him.”
“Why—what does he take me for? What means this dread of me?”
The man looked confusedly up and down, to either hand, and was silent. At last he said,—
“Come; all this is lost time. We 're close in now. Are you ready, sir?”