"Seems like she isn't very fast," he remarked to his pale-eyed companion.
Bahama Bill looked at him a moment, but said nothing.
"Pretty dirty sort of ship, hey?" said the thin fellow again, in a low tone.
The mate was about to make some reply, but Smart nudged him, and he relaxed into a scowl.
"Aw, well, I reckon we'll make it all right," said the pale-eyed man, his face beaming satisfaction and his high nose sniffing the salt air.
"With a decent boat, yes," said the other, "but this one's mighty rough. I never saw a more poorly rigged affair. Seems like she's rigged from the wrecks of other vessels. Don't look like she'll make six knots."
Bahama Bill grunted, but Smart nudged him again, and he said nothing. The yacht captain knew that gentlemen would not stand for rough talk from men of Bahama Bill's type, and he did not want to lose the charter. It meant plenty of money and comfortable living until he could get his salvage.
"Let them talk—don't butt in—say nothing," he admonished Bill, in a whisper.
The big mate heard, but seemed resentful. "What dey want toe knock my ship fo'?" growled the giant. "Ain't she a good sloop? Ain't she done her work all right every time? She's paid me good money, me an' Bull Sanders—no, I don't like no knockin' goin' on abo'd here."