“Well, sir?” said Carthew gravely.
“Well, this ship’s mine, I think?” he asked sharply.
“Well, I’m of that way of thinking myself,” observed Mac.
“I say it’s mine, sir!” reiterated Trent, like a man trying to be angry. “And I tell you all if I was a driver like what you are, I would take the lot. But there’s two thousand pounds there that don’t belong to you, and I’m an honest man. Give me the two thousand that’s yours, and I’ll give you a passage to the coast, and land every man-jack of you in ’Frisco with fifteen pounds in his pocket, and the captain here with twenty-five.”
Goddedaal laid down his head on the table like a man ashamed.
“You’re joking,” cried Wicks, purple in the face.
“Am I?” said Trent. “Please yourselves. You’re under no compulsion. This ship’s mine, but there’s that Brooks Island don’t belong to me, and you can lay there till you die for what I care.”
“It’s more than your blooming brig’s worth!” cried Wicks.
“It’s my price anyway,” returned Trent.
“And do you mean to say you would land us there to starve?” cried Tommy.