“Then they take the dyewood off in boats? If there is much of the stuff, it would be a long job.”
“That is so, señor. The boats can only reach the wharf when the tide is high. At other times, the cargo must be carried down through the mud.”
“Have you a large chart of this coast?”
The broker brought a chart and Dick studied it for some minutes, making notes in his pocket-book. Then he looked up.
“Where can I get fresh water?”
The broker asked how much he wanted and after taking some paper money gave him a ticket.
“There is a pipe on the wharf and when the peon sees the receipt he will fill your tanks.”
Dick thanked him and going out with Jake found their fireman asleep in a wine-shop. They had some trouble in wakening the man and after sending him off to get the water, ordered some wine. The room was dirty and filled with flies, but the lattice shutters kept out the heat and they found the shadow pleasant after the glare outside. Jake dropped into a cane chair with a sigh of content. He felt cramped and stiff after the long journey in the narrow cockpit of the plunging launch, and was sensible of an enjoyable lassitude. It would be delightful to lounge about in the shade after refreshing himself with two or three cool drinks, but he had misgivings that this was not what Dick meant to do. When he had drained a large glass of light, sweet wine, he felt peacefully at ease, and resting his head on the chair-back closed his eyes. After this he was conscious of nothing until Dick said: “It’s not worth while to go to sleep.”
“Not worth while?” Jake grumbled drowsily. “I was awake all last night. It’s quiet and cool here and I can’t stand for being broiled outside.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to. We start as soon as Maccario has filled the tank.”