CHAPTER IX
IN WHICH WE TAKE MUCH TREASURE
“YOU must be awful rich, Black Bart,” said L’Olonnois to me as we sat on the grass, at breakfast, the following morning.
“No, Jimmy,” I replied, putting down my coffee cup, “on the contrary, I am very poor.”
“But you have all sorts of things, back there where you live; and last night you said you would pay that man a hundred dollars, just to open a lot of clam shells. Now, a hundred dollars is a awful sight of money.”
“That depends, Jimmy,” I said.
“’N’ we’d ought to take them pearls,” broke in Lafitte. “Didn’t we lick him?”
“We did, yes; twice.” And in my assent I felt, again, a fierce satisfaction in the first conquest of our invader, that of body to body, eye to eye; rather than in the one where I brought intellect to aid in war. “But there are two ways of being a pirate. Let us see if we can not win treasure by taking a chance in logic, and so be modern pirates.”
They did not understand me, and went mute, but at last Jimmy resumed his catechism. “Who owns the place where you live, Black Bart?”