“Yes, I suppose so.”
“You bet!”
“Well, if you ever wants to see good fishin’ and more than ordinary folk see of the islands here, drop me a word to Havana. Kellerman, marine store dealer, Havana, will get me. He’s a pal of mine. I fetch up in Havana every six months or so—and there’s more than fishin’—”
Tyler stopped short, then he spat overboard and began to fill his pipe. He had no use for cigars—much.
“How do you mean more than fishing?”
“Well, I don’t know. We’re underhanded a bit for any big job and I wouldn’t trust most men. They don’t grow trustable parties in Havana, nor the coast towns—not much. I’ve taken a likin’ to you somehow or ’nother, and if ever we come together again I’ll tell you maybe somethin’ that’s in my mind. You see, between Pap and me and the old Sarah, we’ve seen close on thirty years of these waters right from Caicos to N’y’Orleans and down to Trinidad. Turtle egg huntin’ and fishin’ and tradin’, there’s not a reef or cay we don’t know. The old Sarah could find her way round blind. Put her before the wind with the wheel half a spoke weather helm and leave her, and she’d sniff the reefs on her own.”
“You were saying about something more than fishing,” persisted Ratcliffe, whose curiosity had been, somehow, aroused.
“I was,” said Tyler; “but I’m not free to speak about private affairs without Jude, and there’s no use in tacklin’ her when she’s snorty. Listen to that!”
Sounds were coming from the galley as of a person banging pots and pans about.