Carquinez raised a bird-shrill voice:
“Antonio!”
“Si, Sigñor,” came a response from outside, and on the voice a dusky form at the cabin door.
“Bring me two Zin and Zinzibeers for these two zentlemen, please.”
“No gin!” cried Satan, Ratcliffe concurring. “Ginger beer will do.”
“Zinzibeers,” said Carquinez.
It was nearly all that he said at this interview, the trusty Sellers doing the talking.
Said Sellers to Satan, “Well, it’s funny us hittin’ on you like this, durned funny! We’d been down to Acklin looking up a location Cark was keen about, and comin’ back I shifted the helm, seein’ you lying here and not recognizin’ the old Sarah. I thought it was Gundyman’s boat.”
Said Satan, taking up the drink just presented by Antonio, “Here’s our respects to you both. Thought I was Gundyman, did you? Well, I spotted you on sight. Didn’t want to see you neither. This gentleman will tell you I was squattin’ in the scuppers while Jude was handing you that lie about the smallpox.”
“Oh, was you?” said Sellers with an open and hearty laugh.