“Don’t ye now; don’t rile that one. Man, dear, every time that devilish contraption spits sparks I shudder. Think o’ the slander yon lad could spread and nobody knowin’.”
“Slander?”
“Slander ’bout—you—or me, M’Ginley. Oh, aye, there’s tales he could tell, even if he’s new. Would ye believe it?” The old chief rose. “Ye might not; but some o’ the lads aboard here has loose tongues. A thing I abhor, personal.” And off the old man waddled.
Drake sat there a moment. He was thinking:
“I wonder. Another little swimmer when we come to that island? Will there be four of us in the water? Will the fourth be Sparks? If so—best watch him.”
Rising, he added a codicil to this conclusion.
“There’s nine aboard, counting myself,” he thought, “nine that may be, well, anything. Best start figuring this one out. That’ll leave eight. And one of the eight is me, Drake. Wonder what I’ll be, when we come to the end of the voyage?”
He glanced aft. The stout chief engineer was there, where he had paused on the stair that led below.
“Them that don’t talk here,” said M’Ginley, “them that don’t talk on this ship—they guesses.”
Drake slipped forward till he stood by the open door of the wireless coop. The new Sparks looked up.