“My name’s Drake,” he remarked.
His eyes were fixed on the captain. He saw a wave of color sweep up over old Bain’s weatherbeaten neck, into his cheeks, then recede again.
What the captain read, spelling out large printed words, was this:
Sparklers—they’re wise—watch.
The captain of the Cora crumpled the paper in his hand.
“You read this, of course?”
“I’m no liar. I did, of course,” the man in dungarees mimicked him. “As I said, my name’s Drake—”
“And this paper?”
“I’ve forgotten what was on it,” Drake told him.
“Dip gave it to you. Dip grows jocular,” the captain laughed harshly. “Are you another of his jokes?”