“Well, did you sell the Sea-Lark, Jack?” he inquired.
“Sell her? Who to?” replied the skipper.
“A man was inquiring about her,” said the mate. “He asked us all sorts of questions at the boat-yard, and then said he was coming down here to make a dicker with you.”
“How funny!” observed the captain of the Sea-Lark. “He must be crazy about her. I’m not surprised, but I wonder why, all the same. You didn’t tell him I wanted to sell her?”
“I told him money wouldn’t buy her from you.”
“Well, that’s pretty nearly true. I don’t like the chap. Nor does the Cap’n, here. He worries me. George Santo, you’re fired! Where have you been all this day? Here I’ve been steward, and ship’s carpenter, and cook, and deck-hand, and cabin-boy ever since eight o’clock this morning. I wanted to see you on a little matter of business.”
“If I’m fired, you can’t have any business with me; can he, Cap’n Crumbie?”
“Come hither!” said Jack, catching hold of George’s ear and leading him upon the sloop. “Step into the office. Not into the sea, idiot! Quick march, into the cabin! Now, sit down. See,” he added, producing a small note-book from his pocket; “I have been working out some figures. We’re making money, son—not millions, exactly, but we’re doing better than I ever expected. I want to have a settling up with you. I asked Cap’n Crumbie what would be fair, and he said you ought to have a third of the takings. The boat takes a share, and as she’s mine, that goes to me, of course. The other third I take.”
“But I don’t want to take a share,” George protested. “I’ve done nothing, except play around a bit.”
“I don’t care whether you want to or not; you’re going to if I have to give it to your father for you. Think of your starving wife and children that you were talking about when I signed you on.”