“Lots of time,” said Stanistreet. “Get a bit more forward and talk it over together.”
He turned and paced the deck with his hands behind his back, whilst the crowd shifted forward and broke into several groups, the grumble of their voices coming on the wind.
The fellow with the red handkerchief broke away from the others and came aft touching his forehead.
“Ax your pardon, sir,” said he, “but the chaps wants to know what’s a bolus?”
“A present,” said Stanistreet, “fifty dollars for nothing into the hand of the chap that stays.”
The meeting resumed, but, it was plain to be seen, without enthusiasm. Then, at last, all in one group they came aft and halted, whilst the spokesman gave their decision to the skipper.
“The chaps ain’t unwillin’ to oblige you or the gentleman, sir, but it’s the lonesomeness.”
“None of you will stay?”
“Well, sir, it’s not the stayin’, but the keepin’ here.”
“Of course you’d have to keep here—but that’s enough—get forward.”