"Not just at once, of course," returned his companion, and left the old man to infer whatever he pleased.
In response to a shouted order of Captain Dove's a slatternly cook-steward brought Slyne a steaming platter of beans with a bit of bacon-rind on top, and an enamelled mug containing a brew which might, by courtesy, have been called coffee. There was a tray of broken ship's biscuits, a tin containing some peculiarly rank substitute for butter, upon the table, with the other equally uninviting concomitants of a meagre meal.
"Tchk-tchk!" commented Slyne, and sat down to satisfy his hunger as best he might; while Captain Dove, having overheard that criticism, eyed him inimically, and proceeded to puff a peculiarly rank cigar in his face.
"You might as well be getting dressed now," said Slyne indifferently. "By the time I'm through here, Sallie will be ready to go ashore."
Captain Dove looked very fiercely at him, but without effect.
"Sallie won't stir a step from the ship," the old man affirmed, "till you've handed over the cash."
Slyne looked up, in mild surprise.
"But, dear me! Dove," he remarked, "you don't expect that the London lawyer's going to take my word for a girl he's never even seen? Until he's satisfied on that point, he won't endorse my note to you. So we've got to take her along with us. I'm doing my best to give you a square deal; and all I ask in return is a square deal from you."
"You'd better not try any crooked games with me," growled Captain Dove, and sat for a time sunk in obviously aggravating reflections.
"If we get on his soft side," suggested Slyne insidiously, "there's no saying how much more we might both make."