A dull lurid flush came over the captain’s swarthy face as his eyes encountered those of his henchman, and he frowned heavily.
“Of course you’ll go!” said Bart, bitterly. “I should give up everything to him now, and let him do as he likes!”
“Bart!”
“Oh, all right! Say what you like, I don’t mind. Only, if it’s to be so, let him hang me out of my misery, and have done with it.”
The buccaneer turned upon him fiercely, and his lips parted to speak; but as he saw the misery and despair in Bart’s face his own softened.
“Is this my old friend and help speaking?” he said, softly. “I did not expect it, Bart, from you. Why do you speak to me like this?”
“Because you are going wrong. Because I can see how things are going to be, and it’s natural for me to speak. Think I’m blind?”
“No, Bart, old friend. I only think you exaggerate and form ideas that are not true. I know what you mean; but you forget that I am Commodore Junk, and so I shall be to the end. Now, tell me,” he continued, calmly; “this captain of the sloop asks to see me?”
“Orders you to come to him!”
“Well, he is accustomed to order, and illness has made him petulant. I will go.”