“But how about Carquinez? We had got to wait for him here till he gets back from Havana with the dynamite.”
“Yes,” said Satan, “we’d got to wait here one week, or maybe ten days allowin’ for weather—where was you born?”
“How?”
“Cark’s tried to sell me a pup, that’s how! He’s gone to no Havana: he’s crackin’ on for the wreck with every stitch he can carry. Reckons to bust her open and scoop the boodle while we’re layin’ here rubbin’ our noses and waitin’ for him. Mind you,” said Satan, “I may be wrong, but that’s my ’pinion.”
“But he sailed off toward Havana.”
“Lord! Hasn’t he a rudder?”
“All the same, would it pay him?”
“How?”
“Well, if he played a dirty trick on you like that, wouldn’t he be afraid you’d split?”
“Who to?”