“I certainly do.” Grief paused and laughed with genuine mirth. “It's my firm conviction that Griffiths is a rogue, and that he treated me quite scurvily yesterday. 'Sign,' he says, 'sign in full, at the bottom, and date it,' And Jacobsen, the little rat, stood in with him. It was rank piracy, the days of Bully Hayes all over again.”
“If you weren't my employer, Mr. Grief, I'd like to give you a piece of my mind,” Captain Ward broke in.
“Go on and spit it out,” Grief encouraged.
“Well, then—” The captain hesitated and cleared his throat. “With all the money you've got, only a fool would take the risk you did with those two curs. What do you do it for?”
“Honestly, I don't know, Captain. I just want to, I suppose. And can you give any better reason for anything you do?”
“You'll get your bally head shot off some fine day,” Captain Ward growled in answer, as he stepped to the binnacle and took the bearing of a peak which had just thrust its head through the clouds that covered Guadalcanar.
The land breeze strengthened in a last effort, and the Wonder, slipping swiftly through the water, ranged alongside the Kauri and began to go by. Greetings flew back and forth, then David Grief called out:
“Seen anything of the Willi-Waw?”
The captain, slouch-hatted and barelegged, with a rolling twist hitched the faded blue lava-lava tighter around his waist and spat tobacco juice overside.
“Sure,” he answered. “Griffiths lay at Savo last night, taking on pigs and yams and filling his water-tanks. Looked like he was going for a long cruise, but he said no. Why? Did you want to see him?”