Carquinez knew it all. His grandfather had been in the business, and he mentioned the fact with a sort of pride.
Then he drew back from the break like a reptile balked and retreating; rose to his feet, and stood contemplating the sea.
Satan rose also, as did Ratcliffe.
“I’m off,” said Satan. “This boneyard don’t please me any. Say, what you goin’ to do?”
“Von moment,” said Cark.
“Which?” asked Satan.
“Cark means how about the contrac’?” said Sellers.
“Which way?”
“Lord! Why, we’re left, left with a cargo of skelentons, and you—why, you’ve got a thousand dollars in your pocket.”
“There was nothin’ in the contrac’ about handin’ them back,” said Satan; “b’sides the contrac’s bust. That thousand dollars was on account of findin’s. Is it my fault the findin’s is skelentons? But, see here, you give’s a few hours to turn the thing over, and come aboard the Sarah gettin’ along sundown, and we’ll have a clack. We’re all in the soup, seems to me, and I’m not wishin’ to be hard on you.”