Pet was leering at him from the deck.
“Come up, ronyon,” she said coaxingly.
Blueneck scaled the ladder in a minute and clambered on to the rolling deck beside her.
Dick followed, more dignified but not a whit less agile.
Once on deck he looked about him in disgust. The worm-eaten boards, the empty kegs and other lumber, and the general filthiness of the place disgusted the little Spaniard. His own brig was always kept neat and fastidiously clean.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“A very vile place in truth,” he observed, and then, turning to Pet, he raised his hat as gallantly as if she had been a duenna.
“I would descend and talk with thee on the shore, if you please, mistress,” he said. “This ship distresses me.”
He went again to the ladder, picking his way daintily across the dirty deck; slowly he climbed down again. Pet and Blueneck followed him without a word on to the sand again.
“Prithee, mistress, be seated,” said Dick, indicating a bank of seaweed and seating himself on a breakwater some four feet away.