“To-morrow?”
“Yas.”
“That's settled then,” persisted Moran, surprised at his ready acquiescence; “we start home to-morrow?” Charlie nodded.
“To-molla,” he said.
The rudder was not so badly damaged as they had at first supposed; the break was easily mended, but it was found necessary for one of the men to go over the side.
“Get over the side here, Jim,” commanded Moran. “Charlie, tell him what's wanted; we can't work the pintle in from the deck.”
But Charlie shook his head.
“Him no likee go; him plenty much flaid.”
Moran ripped out an oath.
“What do I care if he's afraid! I want him to shove the pintle into the lower gudgeon. My God,” she exclaimed, with immense contempt, “what carrion! I'd sooner work a boat with she-monkeys. Mr. Wilbur, I shall have to ask you to go over. I thought I was captain here, but it all depends on whether these rats are afraid or not.”