“Good Josephus! That ain't a man! That's a nigger sailor steering my schooner. Tell your tale, Mr. Bradish. Tell it right here. That fellow don't count any more 'n that rudder-head counts.”
“If you could step down into the cabin, I—”
“My place is on this quarter-deck, sir. If you've got anything to say to me, say it!” He began to pace again.
Bradish caught step, after a scuff or two.
“I hope you're going to take this thing right, Captain Downs. It may sound queer to you at first,” he stammered.
“Well, well, well, tell it to me—tell it! Then I will let you know whether it sounds queer or not.”
“I brought another passenger on board with me. She is locked in a stateroom.”
Old Mull stopped his patrol with a jerk. “She?” he demanded. “You mean to tell me you've got a woman aboard here?”
“We're engaged—we want to get married. So she came along—”
“Then why in tophet didn't ye go get married? You don't think this is a parsonage, do you?”