“Thank you,” said Stukeley, holding out his pannikin. “Here’s to old Brandyface, our bold commander.”
“Old Cap Hammock,” said Iles, twitching the left side of his upper lip in the smile peculiar to him.
“What do you think of old Brandyface?” said Stukeley. “Perhaps you’re used to pirates?”
“What’s pirates got to do with it?” said Mr. Iles. “Drink hearty, sir. I got a demijohn in the spare bunk there. What’s pirates got to do with it?”
“Well. There’s old Brandyface in the cabin, isn’t there?”
“Old Cap Hammock ain’t no pirate?”
“Wasn’t he? He was damned near hung for it. Not so long ago, either.”
“Is that so?” said Iles. “Is that so, now? Straight?”
“He’s only an old buccaneer. What d’you think of the old boy?”
“I ain’t paid to think,” said Mr. Iles evasively. “Gee. I didn’t know he was that sort. I wish I’d known.”