Thus courteously concluding, the Chilian skipper returns to his cabin, leaving the newly appointed piloto free to look after his own affairs.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
The “Blue-Peter.”
The ex-man-o’-war’s man, now first officer of a merchant-vessel, and provided with a boat of his own, orders off the skiff he has kept in waiting, after tossing into it two dollars—the demanded fare. Then slipping down into the Condor’s gig, sculls himself ashore.
Leaving his boat at the pier, he first goes to the office of the ship-agent, and delivers the message entrusted to him.
After that, contracting with a truckman, he proceeds to the “Sailor’s Home,” releases his impedimenta, and starts back to embark them in his boat. But not before giving the bar-keeper, as also the Boniface, of that establishment, a bit of his mind.
Spreading before their eyes the crisp hundred pound note, which as yet he has not needed to break, he says tauntingly:
“Take a squint at that, ye land-lubbers! There’s British money for ye. An’ tho’ it be but a bit o’ paper it’s worth more than your gold-dross, dollar for dollar. How’d ye like to lay your ugly claws on’t! Ah! you’re a pair of the most dastardly shore-sharks I’ve met in all my cruzins; but ye’ll never have Harry Blew in your grups again.”