De Jiminez looked at him speculatively.
“I tell you with frankness, I must have ship,” said he.
“What for?”
“I will tell you that—but in more privacy,” with a wave of his hand toward our interested group.
“Oh, these are all Seagull men,” announced Uncle Naboth. “I’ll introduce you, Mr. Yim—Him—Jim—”
“Jiminez.” He pronounced it “He-ma-noth” now, in Spanish fashion.
“This is Captain Steele, our skipper and part owner,” continued my uncle. “This young man is Sam Steele, his son, and also part owner. Sam is purser and assistant supercargo of the Seagull. I’m supercargo, the third owner, and uncle to Sam an’ brother-in-law to the Cap’n. Is that all clear to you?”
De Jiminez bowed.
“Here is Ned Britton, our first mate; and also Joe Herring, our second mate. Both are trusted comrades and always know as much as we know. So what you say, stranger, is as private before these people as if you spoke to but one of us. Therefore, fire ahead.”
The man considered a moment; then he said slowly: