“And that one loves rum!” she repeated.
Blueneck stood thinking for a moment or two, his hands in his pockets.
“For this news, mistress, I will say naught of what has passed this evening, nor of the three rum kegs,” he said.
Pet nodded; the man seemed intelligent.
“Nor will I say aught of a lost boat,” continued the sailor, darting his bright black eyes upon her.
Pet blinked. This man was too intelligent, she told herself.
“I will tell the Captain of your bargain,” Blueneck went on. “It may be he will hear. Meanwhile”—he looked at the array of little kegs on the floor—“you will not die of thirst, mistress.”
Pet shrugged her shoulders and looked across at the slovenly figure by the stove.
“We both drink well,” she said.
Blueneck looked from one to the other.