“Here, in the lagoon?” asked the horrified Ratcliffe.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind if I had the hands and the tools for the job,” replied Satan. “Naw, it’s beyont me. I’ll have to take her to a port to have it done,—not Havana, neither: there’s too many eyes in Havana and people that know my business. Vera Cruz is the place. I know a Spanish yard there’ll do the job.”
“The year after next,” put in Jude, “supposing you do manage to get it aboard, you know what the dagoes are, and you’ll knock the inside of the Sarah to flinders. She won’t be the same boat with that old traction injin in her—I wish we’d never struck this cay!”
She sat down on the combing of the skylight and folded her hands. Ratcliffe had never seen her do that before. He stood torn between two things,—the desire to please Satan and the desire to please Jude. Pulling on the side of Jude there was also the sure foreknowledge of the heavy work that would be required. That did not frighten him; but it did seem to him that they had done enough and ought to be satisfied. It was like burglars going for the kitchen boiler after having removed the plate, furniture, and very bed-linen of a house.
All the same he could not but admire Satan. Time was pressing, it was quite possible that a salvage boat might poke her nose into the lagoon at any moment. Satan knew this as well as he, yet it did not move him.
“It’s not a dago yard,” said Satan, evading the traction engine dig, “it’s French, and I’ve been wanting an auxiliary for years. Pap was with me, only he was awful slow over business, and here’s one for nix. I’m goin’ down to have a look at her.”
He dived below.
Jude sat brooding.
“Never mind,” said Ratcliffe. “It’s not a big engine, and he and I will be able to do it with a tackle. I’m not going to let him put you to work on it.”
“I’m not bothering about that,” said Jude fatefully. “It’s when it’s fixed up I’m thinking of.”