“You looks uncommon like one, anyhow—with your ’air an’ ’ead an’ beard an’ blankits mixed up together all of a mush. There’s a letter for ’ee, old man.”
Without a word the sailor took the epistle, read it slowly, while the boy watched him keenly, then thrust it under his pillow.
“You ain’t agoin’ to clear for action at once, then?” said the boy.
“No, not just yet.”
“Any message for me?” asked Tommy.
“None wotsomedever.”
Seeing that his friend did not intend to be communicative the boy wisely changed the subject.
“Now, Sam, about them pirits. W’ere was it they fust got ’old of you?”
“Down somewheres among the Philippine Islands,” replied Sam, drawing the blankets more comfortably round him, “but to tell you the truth, lad, after they’d taken our ship an’ made every man o’ the crew walk the plank except me an’ the skipper, they putt us in the hold, tied up hand an’ futt so as we could scarce move. Why they spared us was a puzzle to me at the time, but I afterwards found out it was because somehow they’d got it into their heads that the skipper an’ mate of our ship knew somethin’ about where some treasure that they were after had been buried. Hand me that there pipe, Tommy—not the noo one; the short black fellow wi’ the Turk’s head on the bowl. Thankee.”
“An’ did you know about the treasure?” asked Tommy, handing the pipe in question.