‘Is he to work as a sailor?’
‘Finn will try him.’
‘The poor wretch!’ she cried, looking aloft; ‘have you ever observed his feet? Such a man as that cannot climb.’
‘They’ll put him to deck work,’ said I, ‘scrubbing, polishing, scraping, painting.’ She fell silent, with her gaze upon the open book. Presently she sent a slow, thoughtful look along the sea and sighed.
‘Mr. Monson, I wonder if we shall fall in with the “Shark”?’
I shook my head.
‘But why not?’ she exclaimed with a pretty pettishness.
‘She might be yonder at this moment,’ said I, pointing to the light-blue horizon that lined, like an edging of glass, the sky upon our starboard beam. ‘Who is to tell? Our field is too big for such a chase.’
‘We shall find them at Table Bay, then,’ she said defiantly.
‘Or rather, let us hope that they will find us there. But suppose we pick the “Shark” up; suppose we are lying in Table Bay when she arrives. What is to happen? What end is to be served? On my honour, if Lady Monson were my wife——’ I snapped my fingers.