“I am glad to know you, Señor Medico,” said the Spaniard, patting on the stiffness of the formal Don and bowing profoundly, “and I will gladly help you in any way I can. But I am only a poor trader, and glad to do any business I can when I meet a strange ship that has needs. Do you want powder? I see you have guns,” he said sharply.
“Oh yes,” said the doctor. “One never knows what enemies one may meet with among savage people; so we are well-armed, and as you see have a good crew.”
“Yes, yes,” said the Spaniard, looking sharply round.
“But I thank you. We have plenty of powder.”
“So have I,” said the Spaniard. “The black chief is always glad to buy it, and guns too. That is my money—that and rum. Those will always buy palm-oil. But I have plenty of ship stores; canvas, oakum, and pitch. You are mending the other ship, I see. Can I sell you some?”
“I thank you, no,” said the doctor. “We are well supplied, I think, with everything; and in reply, if there is anything you want that we can supply to you I shall be pleased.”
“Then I should like a few canisters of your good English powder.”
“Thought you said you’d plenty,” said Captain Chubb gruffly.
The Spaniard closed his eyes slowly till they were like two narrow slits, and he gave the skipper a meaning nod.
“Yes,” he said significantly, “I have plenty. It is good for the black man’s guns. But if you fired it from yours—pff! It makes much smoke, and the barrel very wet, and the shot do not go too far. But the black men know no better. I do. Ha, ha! You will let me have a few pounds for my own pistols?”