Williamson saw that Staffer's remarks were connected. He was being warned, and asked to think over his refusal; but he stood his ground.
"The advantage doesn't counterbalance the danger," he said.
"Well, I suppose that is for you to decide. Perhaps you are wise in concentrating on your particular business. Our employers are liberal when they're served well, but not as a rule indulgent when a post is unsatisfactorily filled."
Williamson was silent for a moment. Staffer was, in a sense, his superior officer; but for all that, he was expected to use his judgment, and he foresaw danger for both if he meddled with Dick. Still, Staffer was powerful and had given him a significant hint.
"I don't think our employers have much to complain of," Williamson said; "and we must try to work together as far as possible."
"Just so," Staffer answered, getting up.
They separated apparently on good terms; but they were conscious of mutual distrust.
The next morning Whitney, after trying to get into range of a flock of curlew feeding among the sands, threw his gun upon his shoulder and set out for the Rowan. The sun was bright and the breeze fresh, and after opening the skylights to ventilate the boat, he went below to see if their blankets were damp. While he was busy he heard a foot on deck, and Marshall, the fisherman, came down the ladder. He visited the yacht now and then; and Whitney at once got out the whisky bottle.
"Help yourself, but you'll excuse my not joining you," he said. "It's rather early in the morning, and I reckon my nerves aren't as good as yours."
Marshall poured out a liberal portion and regarded him with a twinkle.