"Can you get him aboard here to-day?" asked Dunn.
"I cayn't—nussur. I cayn't."
"Why not? I'll give good pay—fifty dollars. Steady job, if they make good."
"Well, de onliest good cook I knows is 'Scrappy Jule,' dey calls her——"
"Oh, no, she won't do; we don't want any disrep——"
"She's my wife," went on Bill, with a smoothness in his tone that made his captain smile broader than ever, "an' don't reckon she'll come abo'd no boat onless hit's me dat takes her."
"Perhaps she'll do some washing for us, then?"
Bill stared at the yachtsman for nearly a minute, and the smile died away from Sanders' face.
"Look here, yo' white man, did yo' send fur us to come ober heah to listen to a lot ob nonsense?" said Bill solemnly. "What yo' takes me fur, anyhow? We comes ober to take a drink an' pass de time o' day like ship's officer, an' yo' begins wid a lot o' foolishness 'bout cooks an' washerwomen. What yo' reckon I am?"
"Good heavens! Captain Smart, come here a minute," called Mr. Dunn, while the two ladies who were near enough to hear the last part of the conversation sat staring at the wreckers in amazement.