“There’s only one fellow I don’t trust, and that’s Small,” said Captain Gilsen. “He’s a first-class hand, but there’s something about him I don’t like.”
“Oh, don’t worry about Small. We can easily manage him,” sneered the mate. “Why, that fellow is half crazy. He’s talking about pirates’ gold and that sort of rot all the time. Just promise him that you’ll go after that treasure after this affair is taken care of, and he’ll be all right.”
Then the three men discussed the subject of whether or not it would be advisable to treat the boys better than had been done.
“They’re not common sailors, or anything like that,” remarked Letts. “I suppose it galls ’em to be herded in the fo’castle. Maybe they’d take it better if we gave ’em accommodations in the cabin, although how we’re going to crowd ’em in, I don’t see.”
“Not a bit of it!” howled Ferguson. “I don’t believe in bein’ nice to ’em! Treat ’em rough—that’s my way! Treat ’em rough!”
“I think Bill is right,” said the captain. “If we continue to treat ’em rough, they’ll be easier to handle when it comes to writing letters home in order to obtain their release. We’ll scare them out of their wits.”
“And on the other hand, if they agree to do everything we tell ’em, we can promise that they’ll get back everything we took away from ’em,” added Ferguson. “Of course, we don’t have to give the things back, but we can promise it,” and he leered wickedly at his companions.
However, there was one thing the plotters did do, somewhat to the boys’ surprise. When the call came to dinner they found that Captain Gilsen had given orders that they have one of the tables in the forecastle to themselves. And on this the meal served was a decided improvement over those previously supplied.
“This is something like,” said Randy, as he tasted the stew and then sipped some of the coffee. “It shows the cook knows his business when he wants to.”