“What is it that bothers you?” I asked.
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing shortly,” he replied. “But here’s another. Do you see those boats there, one on the house and two on the beds? Well, where is the boat Trent lowered when he lost the hands?”
“Got it aboard again, I suppose,” said I.
“Well, if you’ll tell me why!” returned the captain.
“Then it must have been another,” I suggested.
“She might have carried another on the main hatch, I won’t deny,” admitted Nares, “but I can’t see what she wanted with it, unless it was for the old man to go out and play the accordion in on moonlight nights.”
“It can’t much matter, anyway,” I reflected.
“O, I don’t suppose it does,” said he, glancing over his shoulders at the spouting of the scuppers.
“And how long are we to keep up this racket?” I asked. “We’re simply pumping up the lagoon. Captain Trent himself said she had settled down and was full forward.”
“Did he?” said Nares, with a significant dryness. And almost as he spoke the pumps sucked, and sucked again, and the men threw down their bars. “There, what do you make of that?” he asked. “Now, I’ll tell, Mr. Dodd,” he went on, lowering his voice, but not shifting from his easy attitude against the rail, “this ship is as sound as the Norah Creina. I had a guess of it before we came aboard, and now I know.”