"And you've taken charge of my rifle," I pointed out.
"Oh, not a bit, sir," he cried. "Thrackles, he just took it to clean it--you can have it whenever you want it, sir."
"I have no cartridges--as you have observed," said I.
"There's plenty aboard," he suggested.
"And they're in very good hands there," said I.
He ruminated a moment, polishing the steel of his hook against the other arm of his shirt. Suddenly he looked up at me with a humorous twinkle.
"You're afraid of us!" he accused.
I was silent, not knowing just how to meet so direct an attack.
"No need to be," he continued.
I said nothing.