"I believe you," said the master, significantly.
"Ah! I thought so," cried Wicks, who now felt convinced that the Blossom was not a whit better than the Fairy. "Ain't there no one on board but you and Blackee?"
"What the devil should we want any more hands for?" said the master, gruffly.
"Oh! I understand," observed the Buffer. "Capital! you're the master—to do as you like; Blackee's deaf and dumb, and can't blab; and you and him are alone on board. I've hit it, you see."
"You're uncommon sharp, my fine feller," said the master. "Step on board and wash your mouth out."
The Buffer did not hesitate to accept this invitation. The Black had lighted his pipe, and was lounging on the deck over the after cabin. The master disappeared down the hatchway of the small cabin, or cuddy, forward; and in a few moments he returned with a bottle and two tin pannikins.
"What's the name of your craft?" he said, as he poured out the liquor, which exhaled the strong and saccharine flavour of rum.
"The Fairy," replied the Buffer.
"Then here's a health to the Fairy."
"And here's to the Blossom."