“If I was goneter give a bright young man advice ’bout this very trip,” he answered slowly, “it would be not to ask any questions.”
“I don’t consider it very inquisitive to want to know what I’m shipping on,” he returned with some heat.
“Ye said ye wanted t’ git somewhere near Carlina, didn’t ye?”
“Yes.”
“An’ ye said ye didn’t care how you gut there so long’s ye gut there.”
“Yes,” admitted Wilson.
“Well––ye’re on yer way to Carlina now. An’ if we ain’t blown t’ hell, as likely ’nuff we will be, an’ if we don’t all git our bloomin’ throats cut like I dreamed ’bout, er if the ship ain’t scuttled as we’ll 127 have a precious crew who ’u’d do it in a second, we’ll git there.”
He paused as though expecting some reply, but already Wilson had lost interest in his query before other speculations of warmer interest.
“In the meanwhile,” ran on Stubbs, “’tain’t bad right here. Shouldn’t wonder though but what we gut an old hellion of a thunder shower ’fore long.”
“How do you figure that out without a cloud in the sky?”