"So many of us sort of crowd this state-room. I'll look after Captain Bruce by myself if you don't mind clearing out, Captain Wetherly."
The dazed captain of the Kenilworth showed signs of trying to break into the conversation and managed to sputter excitedly:
"I get ten thousand dollars for this night's job."
At this, Jerry Pringle fairly begged the kind-hearted skipper of the Resolute to withdraw, and although the night was cool for September, the rescued wrecking master wiped the perspiration from his face with a wet shirt sleeve. Captain Wetherly gazed down at the man in the bunk for a moment, nodded gravely, and tiptoed on deck with a parting remark:
"Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money to pay for a splintered skiff, Pringle."
"Captain Bruce is ravin' crazy," grumbled Jerry Pringle as he shut the state-room door.
"Go fetch a hack, Dan," ordered Captain Jim, "and help Pringle lug him ashore. I tried to be decent to them, but my patience is frazzled. I don't want 'em aboard any longer than I can help."
"But what are they doing together in Pensacola harbor?" asked Dan. "There's something mighty queer about it all."
"Keep your guesses to yourself, and don't think too hard about it, or you may go off your noddle like the Britisher in yonder," said captain Jim as he went forward toward his own room. Dan wandered far and wide ashore before he found a cruising hack and was able to return to the wharf. Going aboard, he delayed to coil and stow a heaving line which tripped him as he passed along the lower deck. From a near-by window came the voice of Captain Bruce of the Kenilworth in low-spoken query, evidently addressed to his companion, Jeremiah Pringle: