"It's not, it's not," said Hunt furiously. "I'm a man well known in San Francisco."
"Shut up!" said Jones; "the other joskin said that."
"I won't shut up," roared Hunt, quite losing his temper. "I warn you all to put me ashore, or I'll ruin the lot of you."
"Oh," said the captain, "indeed, well, we'll see. Mr. Jones, you can have the one there—Bates, I think. Mr. Ladd, look after this sailorman with the five thousand dollars. Now if there's another word comes out of either of you, or if you start fighting again and I hear of it, I'll make the pair of you wish you'd died before you saw me."
And Jones shoved both of them down on the main-deck. The two unfortunates recognised that their only chance, and that the faintest, lay in speaking together.
"But we're neither of us sailors, sir," they said piteously.
"This is where we manufacture sailors," said Captain Singleton, who was not without humour. "Mr. Jones, Mr. Ladd, you hear that I hope they won't be able to say as much for themselves this day three months."
And the crew laughed, as in duty bound. But Hunt and Gawthrop did not laugh.
"D'ye think there's any truth in what those two men said?" asked Captain Singleton of his mate.
"Likely enough, sir," replied Ladd. "Aren't we out of San Francisco?"