"Well, Mr. Trask, I don' lak' to go an' say nothin' agin a man, 'specially when he's matin' round a boat what I'm in."
"Oh, I suppose he's rough with a sailor if it suits his fancy," said Trask, convinced now that Doc was merely making talk, and telling a yarn simply to impress him.
"He wouldn't look twice to hang somethin' on a man's haid, Mr. Peth wouldn't. I done saw him stab a man once, not no sailorman, neither, stab him right in the back o' the neck with one o' these hyar Sweden knives with a ring on the handle. He was a planter down Zamboanga way, an' a genelman like you, in white clothes. He come sassin' round Mr. Peth on the pier. He won't sass 'round no mo', mos' certain."
"Fol-de-rol," said Trask. "You're trying to make him out a bad man. I want to know something about him."
"Ain't I tellin' of ye?" asked Doc. "Who all can tell ye, if I don'? Reckon that Zamboanga planter's gwine come back to life jes' fo' talkin' purposes, Mr. Trask?"
"But he and Captain Jarrow must get along if they've been together for several years."
"Git along, man! Them two don' git along, not the way we-all say it. Mr. Peth an' de cap'n? Huh! Them two git along smooth as a houn' dawg in a brier patch."
"They quarrel a lot, eh?"
"Fight ain' no name fer it. Mr. Peth he owns part of this hyar schooner, an' Cap'n Jarrow he wants fer to git him out. I look for him to drap Mr. Peth over the side some fine night—if Mr. Peth don' drap him fust."
"Then that's why Mr. Peth didn't want to sleep aft here?"