“Plenty lying about waiting for cargo. Take your choice.”
“That seems to be easier said than done, captain, for I am hard to please.”
“So’m I,” said the visitor, staring hard at Rodd, beginning with the crown of his head and then looking him slowly down where he sat till he reached the carpet by Rodd’s right foot, and then making his eyes cross over, he began at the toe of the boy’s left foot and slowly looked him up to where he had started at the top of the boy’s forehead, where a tickling sensation had commenced, consequent upon the starting out of a faint dew of perspiration.
“I’m glad to hear it,” said the doctor, “for I want a well-found craft, new or nearly so, built of the best materials.”
“Good; ought to be. What sort?”
“Well, I should like a large schooner, fast and with plenty of room below.”
“Cargo?” grunted the captain.
“No. Provisions, etcetera,” said the doctor, who was beginning to feel annoyed.
“Ho!” came in a grunt, and then after a keen look at Rodd’s uncle, he uttered the one word, “Weepens?”
“Weepens?” said the doctor.