“Gimme ... gimme——”
Sir John, leaning back against the wall, stared up into the twitching face, while slowly, slowly, the wide, bloodshot eyes crept up and up until they were glaring into his; thus for a long moment eyes met eyes, and it seemed that Jonas Skag was halting between two courses, groping meanwhile in his darkened soul and questioning passionately with his look. At last, uttering a hoarse, inarticulate sound, he turned, lurched to the door, opened it, leaned there a moment, and was gone.
Then Sir John arose and, leaving his ale untasted, went seeking the landlord.
“Mr. Levitt,” said he, “I remember meeting yonder red-haired fellow aboard the True Believer. Is he one of Captain Sharkie’s regular men?”
“Not by no manner o’ means, sir!” answered Mr. Levitt. “A drunken, quarrelsome, naun-account chap be Jonas. Las’ toime Sharkie ’apped along—ah, a-settin’ in that very cheer, ‘Levitt,’ says ’e, ‘I’m done wi’ that Jonas for good an’ arl!’ ’e says.”
“And you, like Captain Sharkie, do not trust him?”
“Not so fur as I can see ’im, sir.... Why, here be Corporal Doubleday! How goes it, sir, an’ what’ll we make it?”
At a nod from Sir John, the Corporal, having “made it” ale, and finished it with commendable speed, Sir John presently arose and, taking hearty leave of Mr. Levitt, stepped into the yard and mounted.
“Well, Bob?” he inquired as they rode. “Our Sturton made hither as usual?”
“He did, sir, but——”