"Will you come aboard my ship, señor?" he inquired courteously, getting his spar again and running it out to where Strawbridge could by wading a little reach the end of it. The drummer walked aboard.
The moment the drummer stepped on deck, the captain began hastily:
"Now, señor, if you would be kind enough to lend me a little help ... I am trying to float the Concepcion Inmaculada."
"What's the rush?" asked the salesman, looking at his wounded hand.
The fellow swung his weight against the spar.
"Caramba! If the revolutionistas catch me here, they will strip my poor Concepcion Inmaculada to her last sheet."
"Steal your stuff!" echoed Strawbridge. "What makes you think so!"
"Lightning of God!" cried the shipmaster. "They are ladrones, bandits, cutpurses! Come, give a poor man a hand, señor!" He was shoving now with all his strength.
"You're wrong about that!" defended the drummer, warmly. "I know those fellows. Came up here with 'em." He doubled up his good fist and began making strong, convincing selling gestures with it.