"Correct; here's Gonzague now."
A tall, gray-haired man, with a much-bronzed face, came in and began to clear away the litter on the round table. He had a rugged, weather-beaten countenance, with prominent features and luminous black eyes. Beneath his big, hooked nose a large white mustache, stiff and curled like that of a walrus, half hid a firm, full-lipped mouth. A native of Provence,—soldier, sailor, cook, and deck-hand,—old Gonzague Mairecalde had led sixty-odd years of exciting and polyglot existence, the last three of which had been spent in Castleport's service. Dressed in blue flannel trousers and an immaculate white jacket, the old man moved noiselessly about, swiftly disposing of the things on the table. He seemed to have a place for everything, and the lightest tread and deftest hands imaginable. Having cleared away, he went out, and soon reappeared with linen and service. In a short time the table was ready for the bringing in of the food.
"A' ready, sair?" asked Gonzague, tugging at his mustache with his bony fingers.
"Two minutes," answered Jack. "Come on, Jerry; let's scrub up."
In ten minutes they were seated before a dinner plain but hearty, well cooked and appetizingly served. They were apparently not at all troubled by any incongruity between their rough and not over-fresh sailor clothes and the snowy napery and the silver on which the fire threw dancing and wavering lights. On the walls opposite the fireplace mute, shadowy grotesques helped each other to huge supplies from dishes of vague outline and uncertain size, plied dark forks and spoons with ogre-like gusto, or with heads thrown back and crooked elbows drank like trolls from enormous tankards.
After dinner the table was cleared, a jug of ale was placed upon it, with a plate of ship-biscuit and a supply of tobacco. It was the theory of Castleport that the climate of the Island was English enough to warrant this nightly attack upon the October, of which his uncle, who owned the Island, kept always a butt in the cellar. In truth, the fresh coolness of the air at night, the pleasant blaze of the fire, the agreeable scent of burning tobacco, made a tankard or two of ale seem hardly to need an excuse of any sort.
With the table pulled forward so that its edge came between them, their pipes lit, their feet stretched out comfortably toward the hearth, the pair of friends smoked for a time in silence, until at last Jack, after refilling and relighting his pipe with great deliberation, broke into speech.
"Before I go into the details of this job," he observed, "there's one thing I have to say. It's a waste of breath for me to talk until I know you're with me. I haven't done anything more than to ask you off-hand, old man; now I'd like you to say seriously whether you'll come on this cruise with me or not. I hate to be so horribly businesslike, Jerry, especially in the matter of a lark; but in—er—larking on this scale, things have got to be put on a definite basis,—be perfectly understood, as you said before dinner."
Taberman gave his companion a sidelong glance, and began to smile. The smile grew into an audible chuckle; and this in its turn developed into a laugh increasing to a jovial roar.
"You solemn old pirate," he cried, "what sort of a quitter do you take me for? I'll give you any kind of a promise you like, provided—semper more equitis, you know—Can't bind myself to cut throats, scuttle ships, fly the jolly roger, et cetera. What's your form of oath, eh? Do we drink each other's blood out of a skull, or what?"