"Mahogany and dyewood, when it's to be got."
"Then you go to Manzanillo; perhaps to Honduras. But she not carry much; not room for big logs below."
"The big ones sit on deck," said Watson stolidly.
The man ordered some cognac, but Grahame imagined that he was wasting his hospitality. Though the Scot's legs might grow unsteady, his head would remain clear.
"There is cargo that pay better than wood," his companion suggested with a meaning smile.
"Maybe," agreed Watson. "But ye run a risk in carrying it."
"Ver' true. And when you go to sea?"
"I canna' tell. The high-press' piston must come up. She's loosened a ring."
The stranger made a few general remarks and then strolled away. He had learned, at the cost of a bottle of vermouth and some brandy, that Watson was the Enchantress's engineer, and the vessel would not sail for a day or two.
Grahame chuckled. He meant to leave port the next morning.