“Jude!” said Satan.
“What?”
“Bring up them cigars!”
“Who’s the gentleman?” asked Cleary.
“Gentleman came aboard for a cruise off a yacht. You needn’t mind him; he’s only out for pleasure.”
Cleary nodded to Ratcliffe, who nodded in return. Then things hung for a moment till Jude appeared with the cigar-box, and the newcomer, having tapped the tobacco out of his pipe, chose a cigar, lit it and, leaning with his back against the rail and his thumbs in the armholes of his old waistcoat, blew clouds. He seemed for a moment far away in thought, and Ratcliffe, watching him and Satan,—Jude having vanished again, attacked with another fit of choking,—puzzled his head in vain to find out the inner meaning of what was going on. The wretched pearls were scarcely worth five dollars, he had heard Satan say so, and Cleary, evidently an expert, was not the man to pay eight times their worth, nor was Satan the man to allow the other to pocket them.
Then suddenly Cleary spoke.
“Cark’s a clever man, don’t you think?”
“Well, seein’ he’s your partner, you’re a better judge than me,” replied Satan.
“Well, maybe that’s so,” said Cleary. “Partners we were, and partners we are till I ketch him and bust him.”