“Oh, was you? Well, as I was saying, there’s a mort o’ pigs in there, wild ’uns, and lions too, by report, but I ain’t seen none. I’ll get some sport as soon as my leg heals. This ain’t much of a place though. Can’t get no money out of charcoal burners, not if you was to torture ’em for a year. As God is my witness I’ve done my best, but the sooty vermin ain’t got any.” He sighed. “I shall be devilish glad when we can get back to our lawful business again. I’ve heard married men in England make moan about their ‘family responsibilities’—but what of me? I’ve got three separate families already and two more on the way! What d’you say to that—eh?”
Ortho sympathized with the much domesticated seaman and declared he must be going.
“You’re in hell’s own hurry all to a sudden.”
“I’m on the bodyguard, you know.”
“Well, if you must that’s an end on’t, but I was hoping you’d stop for days and we’d have a chaw over old Jerry Gish—he-he! What a man! Say, would you have the maidens plague that Sambo once more before you go? Would you now? Give the word!”
Ortho declined the pleasure and asked if MacBride could sell him a boat compass.
“I can sell you two or three, but what d’you want it for?”
“I’m warned for the Guinea caravan,” Ortho explained. “A couple of akkabaah have been lost lately; the guides went astray in the sands. I want to keep some check on them.”
“I thought the Guinea force went out about Christmas.”
“No, this month.”