Horne—There’d be no luck for a ship sailin’ out without a name.
Bartlett—She’ll have a name, I tell ye! A name that’ll take all curse away and leave her clean. She’ll be named the Sarah Allen, and Sarah’ll christen her herself.
Horne—It oughter been done, by rights, when we launched her a month back.
Bartlett—[Sternly.] I know that as well as ye. [After a pause.] She wasn’t willin’ to do it then. Women has queer notions—when they’re sick, like. [Defiantly—as if he were addressing someone outside of the room.] But Sarah’ll be willin’ now! She’ll be willin’ in spite o’—— [Catching himself and abruptly lowering his voice.] The schooner’ll be christened tomorrow at dawn afore she sails.
Horne—Yes, sir. [He again turns to go, as if he were anxious to get away.]
Bartlett—Wait! There’s somethin’ else I want to ask ye. Nat, he’s been hangin’ round the schooner all his spare time o’ late. I seen him talkin’ to you and Cates and Jimmy. [With rising anger.] I hope ye’ve remembered what I ordered ye, all three. Not a word o’ it to him! I said I’d keep him out o’ this, for his own good, mind! And if I thought any of ye—— [His fist is raised threateningly, and he glares savagely at Horne.]
Horne—[Retreating a step—hastily.] No fear o’ that, sir! We’ve been keerful. But it’s hard. He’s a sharp one, Nat is. And when we tells him the schooner’s fitted out for tradin’ in the islands, he just laughs. He’s gettin’ the wind on somethin’—without any o’ us sayin’ a word.
Bartlett—[In relieved tones.] Let him s’spect all he’s a mind to—as long as he don’t know. It ain’t that I’m afeerd to tell him o’ the gold, Silas Horne. He’ll share that, anyway. [Slowly.] It’s them—other things—I’d keep him clear of.
Horne—[Immediately guessing what he means—reassuringly.] We was all out o’ our heads with thirst and sun when them things happened, sir.
Bartlett—Mad? Aye! But I ain’t forgot—them two. [Harshly.] I’d rather be you nor me, Silas Horne. You be too rotten bad to care. And I’d rather be Cates or Jimmy. Cates be too dull to remember, and Jimmy be proud as a boy o’ what he done. [He represses a shudder—then goes on slowly.] Do they ever come back to you—when you’re asleep, I mean?