"You should 'ave bumps on your 'ead," he sighed. "This is hintellec', Corlett. It ain't mere cleverness, this isn't."
"You don't say so," said the cockney modestly.
"I do say so," replied Eales with great firmness; "I say it freely."
And they walked up town.
"You see," said Corlett, "'ow the 'ole thing stows itself away. It 'ardly needs management. Lant and Gulliver 'ates 'im, and they're that jealous of Shanghai Smith down in 'Frisco with 'is games, they'll jump at this. And then it's well known Mr. Plump ain't got 'is master's ticket. And young Dodman on'y got 'is second's ticket a v'yge ago. There'll be no goin' back on it if the agents find the right man. By the 'Oly Frost, Jack, we'll diskiver yet if old Brogger is 'alf a bally seaman anyway."
"It's a merricle, Corlett, it's a merricle!" said Jack Eales. "I never quite properly understood what books I've looked into meant by the pure hintellec'. You're clean wasted at sea, so you are. To-night we'll think it over, and to-morrow you and me will go as a committee of deputation to Lant and Gulliver if we sees no flaw in the thing."
"Take my word, there ain't no flaw in it," said Corlett.
"I'm inclined to believe you," said Eales, almost humbly. "I never thought to own up that a man on board the Enchantress was my equal, let alone my superior."
He sighed, but Corlett encouraged him.
"'Tis on'y a fluke, Jack."