The supercargo and Hendry went up on the bridge together, where they could talk freely. The man at the wheel was a thick-set, rather stupid-looking native from Niué (Savage Island), who took no notice of their remarks, or at least appeared not to do so. But Huka was not such a fool as he looked.
“You'll stand little chance with her,” said Hendry presently, in his usual low but sneering tones as he tugged viciously at his beard.
The supercargo's black eyes contracted, “Wait and see, before you talk. I tell you that I mean to make that girl marry me.”
“Marry you!”
“Yes, marry me. The old man will leave her pretty well everything he has, and he has a lot. I've been making inquiries, and am quite satisfied.”
“How are you going to do it?”
“Don't know just yet. Must think it out. But I never yet knew the woman whom I could not work my own way with—by fair means or foul, as the penny novelists say.”
“It strikes me that she likes that damned fellow. Look round presently and see for yourself. She's reading to him.”
“Bah! That's nothing. He used to sail one of the old man's schooners, and of course they have a good deal to talk about. I'll settle him as far as she is concerned. Wait till I get a chance to talk to her a bit,” and taking off his cap the supercargo passed his brawny hand through his curly hair with a smile of satisfaction. “She'll be tired of talking to him before the day is out.”
“Where is he going to land? Has he told you?”