It was the first time a bluejacket had been near the place since a day or two before the admiral's disappearance. And at first when Shanghai saw them come in he regretted that Billy, his best fighting man, was by now well on his way to Portland. But for at least ten minutes the Triumphants behaved very well. Benson had a good head and had arranged matters very neatly.
"You look 'ere," he had said; "the thing to look out for is the barman. He keeps a gun, as they calls it 'ere, on a shelf under the bar. Smith, 'e'll 'ave one in his pocket. So when I says, 'This rum would poison a dog,' don't wait for no back answer, but lay the bar-keeper out quick, with a stone matchbox or anything 'andy. And the nearest to Smith does the same to 'im. He'll likely not be be'ind, but if 'e is, bottle 'im too, and not a word of jaw about it first or last."
They stood up to the bar, and Benson ordered drinks for himself and three particular pals of his.
"Ain't this Mr. Smith's?" he asked.
"I'm Smith," said Shanghai.
"'Ere's to you. I've often heard of you," said Benson. And three or four merchant seamen sitting about the room sniggered and passed a few sneering remarks among themselves about "Liberty Jack."
Smith, who had taken enough that night to make him rash, referred to the admiral.
"So your admiral has come back, has he?"
"He has," said the Triumphants. "And Dicky Dunn is lookin' for the man that played that dirty game on him."
And Smith shrugged his shoulders as he half turned away.