"You can dress him all you want," said Mr. Booker. "If I were you, however, I would not tempt Providence too far. James will not stand too much foolishness. He can lick you."
"Ah, na fear, me laddie, na fear—do I fergit th' times he gie me? Na, na. Wait till I trim him—my mate—at last, at last," said McDuff with unction.
"Well, we'll let that go," said Booker; "you're carrying dynamite and it won't do to get too frivolous. Do you know anything about carrying dynamite?"
"Na, an' I'm that old to learn," said McDuff, eying the owner quizzically. All his Scotch canniness was alert.
"Oh, it's all right," said Booker; "only you don't want to make rough-house aboard your ship the first time you take her out as master. You're chartered for Colon again, carrying supplies for the Canal."
"Ah, weel," said the mate.
"I reckon that's about all, Captain McDuff. Do your duty like a man. If you do we'll forget some of your past—understand?"
"I ken it, I'll do it," said the man, dropping his eyes to the floor. His past was not a thing to speak lightly upon.
"Drink as much cola and good rum as you think you need. It doesn't hurt a man used to it, like yourself."
McDuff gave the owner a long searching look. The idea tickled him. He threw back his head and laughed, showing his yellow fangs.