"So ho—he knoweth my name then!" says Tressady, rubbing shaven chin with silver dagger-hilt and viewing me with his pale, keen gaze: "But do I know him now—do I?"
"I know you for pirate and damned murderer, Roger Tressady, so shall you quit this island this very hour or stay here to rot along with Bartlemy and Red Andy!"
Now at this (and all careless of my pistol) he drew a slow pace nearer, great head out-thrust, peering.
"Why," says he at last, "why—bleed me! If—if it aren't—aye 'tis—Martin! Why for sure 'tis my bonnet Marty as saved my skin time and again aboard the 'Faithful Friend!' Though ye go mighty fine, lad, mighty fine! But good luck t'ye and a fair wind, say I!" And thrusting the dagger into his girdle he nodded mighty affable. "But look'ee now, Marty, here's me wishing ye well and you wi' a barker in your fist, 'tis no fashion to greet a shipmate, I'm thinking."
"Enough words!" says I, stepping up to him. "Do you go—alive, or stay here dead—which?"
"Split me!" says he, never stirring. "But 'tis small choice you offer, Marty—"
"My name's Martin!"
"And a curst good name too, Marty. But I've no mind to be worm's-meat yet awhile—no! Come, what's your quarrel wi' me? First Andy would murder me and now 'tis you—why for? Here's me wi' a heart of gold t' cherish a friend and never a friend t' cherish! What's your quarrel, lad, what?"
"Quarrel enough, what with your drugging me and murder aboard ship—"
"Avast, lad! Here's unchancy talk, ill and unmannered!"