“Then you tell him to stop about the West Indy Islands. He may get some birds there, but he won’t if he goes to the coast yonder. You tell him I say so.”
“What’s the use?” I said. “Uncle has made his plans.”
“Oh, yes, and he thinks he’s going to do wonders with that cranky cockboat.”
He turned and nodded his head contemptuously at our good-sized boat lashed on the deck amidships.
“It was the best he could get in Port Royal Harbour,” I said, “and all the better for being rather small.”
“Why?” said the captain.
“Easier to manage. We can go up the rivers in her, or sail along the coast.”
“You’ll get snagged in the rivers, and pitched into the sea if you try to coast along. Oh, here he is!”
For at that moment Uncle Dick, looking particularly eager and inquiring, came up to where we stood.
“Well, captain,” he said, “having a word with my nephew about our boat?”