“Sure,” said Jake.
“Then catch hold and keep her as she is.” He stood watching whilst Jake steered.
That individual, despite the shove he had received, seemed to bear no malice. Absolutely unperturbed he stood with his hands on the spokes, chewing, his eye wandering from the binnacle to the luff of the mainsail.
“Whar’s the Jack?” he suddenly asked, turning to spit into the starboard scupper.
“What were you doing with that gang?” countered Hank.
“Me! Them guys? Why, you saw what I was doin’, keepin’ ship, whiles they went ashore. What were you doin’ with them?”
“Mean to tell me you don’t know why they went ashore?”
“Me! nuthin’. I’m only a foremast hand, signed on ’cause I was out of a job. I saw you all scatterin’ about on shore, then you comes off and takes the ship—that’s all I know.”
“Look here,” said Hank. “D’you mean to tell me you didn’t put the McGinnis crowd on to us before we left ’Frisco? D’you mean to say you weren’t on the wharf that night when Black Mullins dropped aboard and peeked through the skylight and saw Mr. Candon?”
“Me. Which? Me! N’more than Adam. You’re talkin’ French.”