“Gwan, No-mee, none of that. Give me something to drink!”
“Got none,” she answered.
“Sure you have. Come across with it quick.”
“Got none,” she repeated. “Go Wat for some. He keeps,” she answered. “Go way, you get killed the Boss find you here.”
“Sure I will, but he’s too far away to find me,” the man laughed wickedly, then shouted to the others, “Come on! Nomie’s trying to hold out on us! Give me a hand!”
“Say, don’t do that! The Boss will be mad as anything and you know the last time you smashed things he told you that after the next spree he’d kill you! You were on your knees with the barrel of gun in your mouth.” The man who was speaking was the one who had called, so Roberta judged that he must be a member of the group on the island.
“Well, tell her to open the door. I’m not going to smash anything. I want some coffee; the woman can make me some.” The voice was considerably less belligerent, but the fellow was just intoxicated enough to be stubborn.
“Go back to the boat and get your own cook to make you a barrel of coffee. Let the woman alone, I tell you, or I’ll send for Wat.”
“Yes, you’ll send fer Wat—well, who’ll you send, Brick Top, one of my crew? I’ll shoot the first man that stirs a leg.”
“Now, look here, Cap, you get back in the boat and go about your business, and I won’t say a word about seeing you here. If you don’t beat it, you’re going to make trouble for your whole crew. Go on back and sleep it off, then come over and get the cargo,” Brick Top urged.