“That Jasper is just as handy as any house-broke nigger I ever saw,” declared Thank. “My folks owned slaves before the war; but I don’t know but being waited on by one is going to be too rich for my blood.”
Thank saw no difference between a Hindoo and a Negro; anything off color was a “Jasper” to him. But it tickled him when Singh called him “Polk Sahib.” With the other hands he was never familiar; but nobody save Bob Promise treated him unkindly. Bob was a bully, and that mean streak in him was bound to show on the surface every once in awhile.
Meantime the old Gullwing was snoring away up the coast of South America. Not that the land was in sight, for we were miles and miles off shore; but the course she followed was parallel to the coast. The Seamew was not sighted for days at a stretch, and we did not know whether she was ahead of us or astern. I had an idea, however, that during the favorable weather she was walking away from us at a pretty lively gait.
Since I had returned from my sojourn aboard the Seamew I thought that Mr. Barney treated me differently. That is, when we were off duty and chance threw us together. Before my accident I had put on the gloves with him on several occasions, and he had been kind enough to say that I was as good a sparring partner as he had ever had. We took up this exercise again, as the weather remained so favorable.
He was curious about the attitude of the Seamew’s company toward us, and whether they were as eager to win the race to Baltimore as were the men aboard the Gullwing.
“More so,” I told him. “They mean to beat us if they can—from Cap’n Somes all down the line.”
He threw off the gloves and said, with a side glance at me:
“My brother, too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just as eager as the others?”