“You can sell it, you know. Or I will give you thirty pounds in cash, if you prefer.”
“I can’t afford to do it for that,” laughed the boatswain.
“I’ll give you fifty pounds then,” persisted Clyde.
“Can’t afford to do it for that, either.”
“Say sixty, then.”
“Say a hundred, if you like, my lad; and then say a thousand. I can’t afford to do it for all the money your mother is worth. You are on the wrong tack, my lad. I can’t be bought at any price.”
“I won’t ask you to let me out. If you will only go on deck, and keep out of the way, I will manage it all myself.”
“No, no; sheer off, my hearty. When I have a duty to do, I always mean to do it; and if it isn’t done, it isn’t my fault. You can’t leave the ship with my consent.”
“I can’t stay here, I say. I should die in a month.”
“Very well, die like a man, then,” said Peaks, good-naturedly; for, though he could not be bought at any price, he did not indulge in any righteous indignation against his victim. “Learn your duty, and then do it. There is plenty of fun going on in the ship, and you will enjoy yourself as soon as you get on the right tack. That’s the up and down of the whole matter.”