"You bear the mark, shipmate; as you lay a-groaning in your sleep I took occasion to cast an eye over ye, d'ye see, and what wi' the new-healed scars on your wrist, your sunburnt skin and the desperate sink-or-swim look o' you I judged you new-broke from slavery, and named a Spanish galleass at a venture, d'ye see."
"You are an observant man, it seems," says I, frowning.
"I have a way o' putting one and one together—'tis a trick I've found useful now and then!"
"Ha!" says I, mighty scornful, "You'll be telling me my own name next!"
"Why, as to that," says he, pinching his long, clean-shaven chin thoughtfully, "how would Conisby suit?"
"Damned spy!" I cried, and caught him in my grip; the fellow never so much as flinched, and there was something formidable in his very quietude.
"Easy all, shipmate!" says he mildly and staring up at me eye to eye. "Use me kindly, for I'm a timid soul with a good heart, meaning no offence."
"How learned ye my name? What devilry is here?"
"None in the world, Lord love ye! 'Tis just my trick of adding one and one, d'ye see? There's the ring on your finger and the signboard above you."
"And wherefore spy on a sleeping man?"