“Fragile. With care. This side up,” replied the clerk with a wink, as he disappeared.
He returned, smiling to himself, and carrying in his hand a silk handkerchief. The long stupid wrinkles ran up Davis’s brow as he saw it. What should it contain? He could think of nothing more recondite than a revolver.
Huish resumed his seat.
“Now,” said he, “are you man enough to take charge of ’Errick and the niggers? Because I’ll take care of Hattwater.”
“How?” cried Davis. “You can’t!”
“Tut, tut!” said the clerk. “You gimme time. Wot’s the first point? The first point is that we can’t get ashore, and I’ll make you a present of that for a ’ard one. But ’ow about a flag of truce? Would that do the trick, d’ye think? or would Attwater simply blyze aw’y at us in the bloomin’ boat like dawgs?”
“No,” said Davis, “I don’t believe he would.”
“No more do I,” said Huish; “I don’t believe he would either; and I’m sure I ’ope he won’t! So then you can call us ashore. Next point is to get near the managin’ direction. And for that I’m going to ’ave you write a letter, in w’ich you s’y you’re ashymed to meet his eye, and that the bearer, Mr. J. L. ’Uish, is empowered to represent you. Armed with w’ich seemin’ly simple expedient, Mr. J. L. ’Uish will proceed to business.”
He paused, like one who had finished, but still held Davis with his eye.
“How?” said Davis. “Why?”