“None of it?”
“O, there's some of it out. We'll get at the rest of it livelier to-morrow, I guess.”
“I guess there'll be something broken first,” said Pinkerton, and strode to the cabin.
Here we found a man, fat, dark, and quiet, seated gravely at what seemed a liberal meal. He looked up upon our entrance; and seeing Pinkerton continue to stand facing him in silence, hat on head, arms folded, and lips compressed, an expression of mingled wonder and annoyance began to dawn upon his placid face.
“Well!” said Jim; “and so this is what you call rushing around?”
“Who are you?” cries the captain.
“Me! I'm Pinkerton!” retorted Jim, as though the name had been a talisman.
“You're not very civil, whoever you are,” was the reply. But still a certain effect had been produced, for he scrambled to his feet, and added hastily, “A man must have a bit of dinner, you know, Mr. Pinkerton.”
“Where's your mate?” snapped Jim.
“He's up town,” returned the other.