“Then I shall have to go alone, I suppose,” said Guy. “I don’t like to leave you, Flint, but I can’t stand this any longer. I am black and blue all over from the poundings I have received.”
“And you’re getting as thin as the royal yard,” said Flint. “You’ll be bait for the crows if you stay aboard this craft till we reach the Sandwich Islands, and that’s where we’re bound.”
“The Sandwich Islands!” repeated Guy. “I thought we were going up the Mediterranean.”
“Oh, that’s only one of the pack of lies that shipping agent told you,” said the sailor, with a laugh. “If you had looked at the articles you signed, you would have found out all about it. We’re going to discharge our cargo at San Francisco, take another from there to Honolulu, and fill up again for New Orleans. Where we shall go after that I don’t know.”
“We’re going round the Horn, I suppose?”
“Of course. They don’t take ships over the isthmus yet.”
“Then I understand why Smith made me buy so many thick clothes. He said perhaps I’d see some cold weather.”
“And so you will,” said Flint. “I’ll help you to get off if I can, but I don’t see the use of going with you. I’d have to leave you again, unless you would go to sea in some other vessel.”
“And that I’ll never do. I’ll starve on shore first.”
“And I’ll stay aboard the Santa Maria. Have you got any money?”