The professor nodded.
“I hope you mean them no harm,” he said. “They are faithful, hard-working fellows, and excellent sailors. Their names are Monday and Tuesday, so called after the days on which they were hired.”
“Das so. Yes, boss, das so, fer a fac’,” said one of the South Sea natives, pulling his black silky forelock in true sailor fashion.
“I reckon we kin fin’ work fer them, too,” decided Lake. “Yer see, it’s jes’ this way: Whar we’re goin’ every one hez ter work, er else starve. I reckon you’d rather work then starve, so I’m goin’ ter give yer all a chance.”
“One question, Lake,” put in the rancher. “I’ve a home and wife back yonder on the Sound. In mercy’s name, tell me, and tell me the truth—am I ever going to see them again?”
Lake looked at him curiously, and then the wretch deliberately rose to his feet.
“Reckon the weather’s clearin’ quite a bit, Zeb,” he said, without taking the slightest notice of the perturbed rancher. “We’d best be gittin’ on deck. By the bye,” he said suddenly turning to Tom, “you did me a sarvice with that thar yaller devil. I’ll not forget it.”
He started for the companionway stairs followed by Zeb. It was his evident intention to pay no heed to Mr. Chillingworth. But the rancher intercepted him.
“As you are human, Lake,” he pleaded, “answer my question. Think, man, what it means to me—to my wife——”
He stopped short, evidently afraid to trust his voice further. Lake turned and met his outburst with a cruel smile.