"You count fairly. Fourteen, how many are our friends?"
"Postnak and Conroy, at least."
"Then we are four, so far. Now, what of Groot and Shamhaven and Jack Wilbur?"
"Groot is a good fellow and a man who wishes to make money."
"And Shamhaven will do almost anything for money—he once told me so. He took a sailor suit from a store in Manila without paying for it."
"I know that too. The tailor was rich and didn't need the money," and Peterson gave another coarse laugh.
"Then we are six—to stand up for our rights. And Jack Wilbur will make seven—just half the number on the ship."
"How can we count that Wilbur in? He is a Yankee."
"He is a weakling and we can manage him,—and I think we can manage some others, too—when we get that far."
"How far do you mean?" demanded Peterson, although he knew about what was coming.