“I have, Carey, and there is no disguising it; but I am going to pluck up now. Let the scoundrel go on thinking we are submitting and are as much his servant as the blacks are.”
“Till the right time comes, sir, and he wakes up to the fact that he’s our prisoner. I say, if a ship came in sight and saw us we could hand him over and he’d be taken right off and treated as a criminal.”
“Exactly. It seemed very galling to see him seize the pearls.”
“Yes,” said Carey, “but let him think they’re his, and the ship, and all below. We know better.”
This was a trifling bit of conversation, but from that hour hope grew stronger in the breasts of the three oddly made prisoners and slaves of such a king. Their semi-captivity seemed more bearable, and it showed in their looks and actions, the beachcomber noting it and showing a grim kind of satisfaction.
“That’s right,” he said. “Glad to see you are all settling down and making the best of it. It’s no use to go kicking against stone walls or rocks. Be good boys, and I won’t be very hard on you. You’ll eat and drink your food better, and instead o’ grizzling you’ll enjoy yourselves and get nice and fat. My pack, too, will like you all the better. I don’t think I shall let ’em have that ugly chap Bostock, though; he cooks too well.”
But Carey took matters, according to the doctor’s ideas, too easily—too freely. He did not shrink from speaking out and taking liberties with his position. It was as if he had forgotten that he was a prisoner, and he pretty well did as he liked.
“Here, what are you after, youngster? Where are you going?”
“Along with the pack to get cocoanuts,” said Carey, coolly.
“I never told you,” growled the old fellow, fiercely.