“No, sir; no, sir,” said the lieutenant sternly. “Business if you please.”
“Of course, sir. Come along to my cabin.”
“Lead on, then.”
The skipper took a few steps aft, and Roberts followed his officer, a couple of the sailors closing in behind, while two others with Murray kept the deck in naval fashion, though there seemed to be not the slightest need, for the schooner’s men hung about staring hard or leaned over the side looking at the men in the cutter.
“Here, I say,” said the skipper sharply, “I should have thought you could have seen plain enough that what I said was quite right. What do you take me for? Oh, I see, I see; your skipper’s got it in his head that I’m trading in bad spirits with the friendly niggers on the coast yonder; but I ain’t. There, I s’pose, though, you won’t take my word, and you’ve got to report to your skipper when you go back aboard.”
“If I do go back to report, sir,” said the lieutenant.
“If you do go back, sir? Oh, that’s it, is it? You mean if you take my schooner for a prize.”
“Perhaps so, sir. Now then, if you please, your papers.”
The skipper nodded and smiled.
“All right,” he said; “I won’t turn rusty. I s’pose it’s your duty.”