“You be blowed,” growled Oakum. “I must take care o’ myself. Now then, gov’nor, what do you say?”
“I’ll give you a hundred of those silver ingots down below. That will make you a rich man.”
“Won’t do,” said Sam, stoutly. “I ain’t going to cut my old skipper for no hundred on ’em. Make it two hundred and I’ll take you.”
“Oakum, if you have a spark of manly feeling in you!” cried Dutch.
“Ain’t got a spark, Mister Dutch Pugh. It was put out that day of the fight.”
“You scoundrel!” cried the captain.
“Same to you, captain,” said Oakum, coolly. “Now then, gov’nor, what do you say? Is it to be two hundred, or is the proposal off?”
“I’ll give you the two hundred,” said Lauré, with flashing eyes, for he knew that Oakum would be invaluable to him, and very likely bring Rolls and Lennie over—the three being the best sailors in the ship.
“And ’bout grog?” said Oakum.
“As much as you like when the work’s done,” said Lauré.