“But I’m sure—” whispered the planter.
“So’m I. You keep your tongue between your teeth, and I dessay we can settle matters. Look here, Mr Officer, I’m boss of all the business here, and you needn’t take no notice of this gentleman. I telled you that Mr Allen has been in bed with fever, and it’s left him, as you see, very shaky upon his legs. Your coming has upset him and made him a bit nervous. Here, I’ll put in a word for him, poor chap. Jes’ you ask your skipper to give him a small bottle o’ quinine. You won’t want paying for that, being charity.”
The lieutenant turned his back upon the speaker angrily, and spoke to the feeble-looking planter.
“Look here, sir,” he cried, “you are nominally owner of this plantation and the slaves upon it.”
“Now, look here, mister,” said the American angrily; “I spoke civil to you, and I offered to help you and your ship with what you wanted in the way of fresh meat and vegetables. What’s the good of returning stones for stuff?”
“My good fellow, will you be silent,” cried the lieutenant, “and let me deal with your master?”
“My master!” snarled the American. “I am my own master, sirr. I tell you I’m boss of all this here show, and if I like to turn nasty—”
“My dear Huggins—” interposed the planter.
“Shut your mouth, you old fool,” growled the American, “and don’t interfere.”
“Why, you insulting scoundrel!” roared the lieutenant. “Here, Mr Allen—that is your name, I believe?—you had better leave this matter in my hands, and I will settle it.”