He came on deck, just touched his hat, as if to brush away a fly, and, removing an enormous cigar from his mouth, said, "Wal, and so this is the Springbok. Spry little boat she is; how many knots can ye get out of her now? Not that I am curious."
"About twelve knots."
"And when the steam's off the bile, how many can you sail? Not that it is my business."
"Eight or nine. What is your business?"
"Hum! You have been over some water looking for that gal. Where do ye hail from last?"
"The Society Islands. Did you board me to hear me my catechism?"
"No, I am not one of your prying sort. Where are ye bound for now?"
"I am bound for Easter Island."
"Have you heard anything of the gal?"
"No."