Barty gave Saturday an alarmed look. "Have you a relation like that?" he said.
"Chatterdy-chat-chatterdy," Saturday answered, and Barty knew he meant that if he had he was not a very near relation.
One thing which puzzled Barty very much was that though the pirates were so polite that they kept bowing all the time they looked as fierce as ever, and when the Captain said such polite things, his voice was so rough and savage that it made you almost jump out of your skin when he began to speak.
"I hope you won't be cross at my speaking about it," Barty said, "but your voice scarcely sounds polite at all."
"Oh!" said the Captain as fiercely as ever, "I beg five hundred thousand million pardons, but that is nothing but a bad habit we can't get rid of. We spoke like this for such a long time that now we can't make our voices sound polite at all. We take voice lozenges six times a day, but it seems scarcely any use, and we can't help looking fierce and swinging our swords. But we are really as gentle as doves."
"I—I never sh-should have thought it," said Barty, moving back a little, because the pirate Captain began to swing his sword that very minute, and it looked rather alarming even if he were as gentle as a dove.
He saw that Barty was startled and stopped himself and made another bow.
"Pray excuse me," he said. "You see what a habit it is."
"What did you come here for?" asked Barty, feeling rather braver.
"To ask you to a tea party—to inquire if we might have the extreme pleasure of your society at a tea party on the ship."