"You don't reckon Mr. Peth he's actin' up none, do ye? The skipper he goes walkin' 'round like he had somethin' wearin' down on his mind."
"You better ask him, Doc," said Trask.
"Huh! Ketch me goin' out and confabbin' around with the ol' man! He'd shore hang somethin' on mah haid. Mr. Trask, 'fo' God, I can't git no sleep when I'm a-worried. It all kind o' makes my skin go all crawly when there's somethin' projectin' around and I don't know of it. Yo' shore there ain't nothin' bad nohow?"
"There will be, if you don't get out of that door! Go bring some water."
Doc gurgled with a suppressed chuckle, and went to the galley, where he could be heard pulling a cork in the dark. He was back in a minute, and handed a glass in to Trask, who sat up to take it and drink.
"If somebody hadn't a-swiped that gun o' yourn, I would take no bother of it if Mr. Peth gits contrary with——"
"I've got another gun," said Trask. "And Mr. Locke has two."
Doc was silent for a time, as if he were pondering the matter.
"Yo' all shore come a-lookin' for b'ar," he opined, taking the glass which Trask thrust out at him. "But yo' all don't need to be squirmish about Mr. Peth. If he goes to act up, I'll settle his hash."
"How's that?"