A pause fell, wherein Torres and the Jefe and all the draggled following yearned for the piping hot coffee brought by the boy. Captain Rosaro played the rim of the mug against his teeth like a rattling of castanets, but managed to sip without spilling and so to burn his mouth.
A vacant-faced Swede, in filthy overalls, with a soiled cap on which appeared "Engineer," came up from below, lighted a pipe, and seemingly went into a trance as he sat on the tug's low rail.
"How much?" Captain Eosaro repeated.
"Let us get under way, dear friend," said the Jefe. "And then, when the fever-shock has departed, we will discuss the matter with reason, being reasonable creatures ourselves and not animals."
"How much?" Captain Eosaro repeated again. "I am never an animal. I always am a creature of reason, whether the sun is up or not up, or whether this thrice-accursed fever is upon me. How much?"
"Well, let us start, and for how much?" the Jefe conceded wearily.
"Fifty dollars gold," was the prompt answer.
"You are starting anyway, are you not, Capitan?" Torres queried softly.
"Fifty gold, as I have said."
The Jefe Politico threw up his hands with a hopeless gesture and turned on his heel to depart.