"I've jes' blew in fur a trifle of chin-music," replied Hervey
with an emphatic U.S.A. accent.
"I'm busy: get out," was the uncomplimentary reply.
Hervey took a chair and, stretching his lengthy legs, produced a
black cheroot, as long and lean as himself.
"If you were in the States, Professor, I'd draw a bead on you for
that style of lingo. I'm not taking any. See!" and he lighted
up.
"You're the captain of 'The Diver'?"
"That's so; I was, that is. Now, I've shifted to a dandy
wind-jammer of sorts that can run rings round the old barky. I
surmise I'm off for the South Seas, pearl-fishing, in three
months. I'll take that Kanaka along with me, if y'like,
Professor," and he cast a side glance at Cockatoo, who was
squatting on his hams as usual, polishing a blue enameled jar
from a Theban tomb.
"I require the services of the man," said Braddock stiffly. "As
to you, sir: you've been paid for your business in connection
with Bolton's passage and the shipment of my mummy, so there is
no more to be said."
"Heaps more! heaps, you bet," remarked the man of the sea
placidly, and controlling a temper which in less civilized parts
would have led him to wipe the floor with the plump scientist.
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