"Say, how long before we reach Hong Kong?" went on Boston.
"You had better ask Newman, himself," I retorted.
"Now don't get mad, Jack," he said humbly. "You know I didn't mean nothing. Guess you sabe as much about sailing as the Big 'Un, anyway."
"Well, this is a fast ship—none faster," I told him, mollified by his flattery. "Say seventy days, at the outside, from 'Frisco to Hong Kong. Probably sixty days would be nearer to it."
At that he burst out cursing, and consigned the ship and all her afterguard to the Evil One. "My God, another month of this hell!" he cried. "Will you stand it, Shreve?"
"Sure. We'll all stand it. What else to do?" I replied.
"What else!" said he. His voice was suddenly crafty. "Well, now, Shreve, didn't it ever strike you as how we're blasted fools to let those fellows aft knock us about? There are thirty of us, and two of them!"
"More than that," I warned him. "You forget Captain Swope, and the tradesmen. There are seven of them, aft, all armed, and of a fighting breed. You are hinting at a silly business, Boston."
"Oh, I don't know," he persisted. "Thirty to seven ain't so bad. And they haven't all the arms—we got our knives, ain't we? And maybe other things, too."
"Forget it," said I. "Don't imagine for a minute these stiffs will face guns. You and your mate might, but as for the rest of the gang—why, Lynch could clean them up single-handed. Better stow that kind of talk. It's dangerous. You have the law against you, and it's a neck-stretching affair."