With the final word he jerked the wretch off the board pathway and watched him flounder in the deep oozing mud.
“Haste thee, dog,” he said, touching him lightly with the blade of his knife.
Habakkuk screamed and floundered on for the rowboat, where he was hauled in by several of his comrades. The boat then pushed off for the brig.
“You have a wonderful way with your crew, Captain,” said French, looking after the boat.
“Ay, of a truth,” the Spaniard laughed. “Cannot Dick Delfazio rule a pack of mangy dogs?”
French looked at him narrowly, and then took up the conversation where he had left it.
“The Ship is no wayside tavern,” he said. “The folk be simple but the liquor good and the wenches pretty, and they are waiting for you to come—the maids in their best caps, and the canary warming on the hearth.”
Dick looked at him for a moment.
“Master French,” he said, keeping his glittering eyes on the other’s face. “Master French, ’tis strange that thou should’st be in this part of the Island so ready for my coming, Master French,” he added, his voice assuming the soft caressing quality for which it was so remarkable. “Dare I suppose that it was not to meet me that thou camest to the East? That it was to the Ship thou camest, eh, Master French?”
Once again the big man blushed to his ears but he laughed.