“Then have off that there hatch. We’re being smothered: that’s so.”
“It’s not true,” said Mark, firmly. “The ventilator’s open.”
“Wal, that say gives ’bout air enough for one man to drink in. We want more.”
“You’re getting more now than you considered enough for those unfortunate blacks, sir. So be silent, or I’ll have you all in irons.”
“Don’t you try it, mister,” cried the skipper. “But look here, squaire, we want our breakfast.”
“Your rations shall be served out to you all in good time,” replied Mark.
“But we want ’em now, mister; my lads are half famished.”
“I tell you that you shall have them soon, so wait patiently.”
“Wall, don’t be ugly about it, squaire. We’re not ugly now. Look here, it’s hot and smothering down here. Let us come up on deck and have a confab about this business. It’s of no use for us to quarrel about it, so let’s square matters.”
“I don’t understand you.”