“A corsair is a pirate,” replied Hal suspiciously. “It is also a pirate’s ship.”
“Oh, then we’re pirates, are we? That is, you are?”
“The name is Corsair,” averred Hal determinedly.
“All right, Mr. Pirate. And now, if you’ll just slather a few pints of that cylinder oil around the propeller casing you’ll have been pretty well over the boat with it. From the way you’re wasting it you must be some close relation to John D. Rockefeller.”
Hal set down the oil can with a grin. “You’re an awful idiot, Bee.”
“I are indeed. Hello, here we are at Mr. Herrick’s own private little cove! Jack, it’s you who should be the pirate instead of Hal. With a harbor of your own like this you could have a dandy time. You could sit on your doorsteps up there with a spy-glass and when you saw a likely looking merchantman approaching you could sally—no, dash forth and attack her. Then, after you’d swiped—I mean captured all the treasure and made the captain and crew walk the plank you could dash back again. Honestly, Jack, I think you made a big mistake in your choice of professions. Instead of being the driver of a nautical waterwagon you should be flying the Jolly Roger and slicing off people’s heads with a cutlass!”
“You’d have an easy time of it if you were a pirate,” said Hal with elaborate sarcasm. “You wouldn’t need to carry a cutlass. You could just board a ship and talk them to death!”
“Right you are, old Hal! If I was a pirate I’d lay about me with my trusty tongue and the scuppers would be filled with words! Ready with the bow line, there!”
“Half-speed, Hal!” called Jack from the bow. “Stop her!”