He has arranged everything."
"I believe you, matey. He's arranged everything. Supercargo! Well, to be
sure! Never a supercargo as I ever knowed but wanted a man to look arter
him, fetch and carry for him, so to say. How would I do, if I might make
so bold?"
"Thanks," said Desmond, smiling as he surveyed the man's huge form. "But
I think Captain Barker might object to that. You'd be of more use on
deck, in spite of--"
He paused, but his glance at the iron hook had not escaped Bulger's
observant eye.
"Spite of the curlin' tongs, you'd say. Bless you, spit it out; I en't
tender in my feelin's."
"Besides," added Desmond, "I shall probably make use of the boy who has
been attending to me at the Goat and Compasses--a clever little black boy
of Mr. Diggle's."
"Black boys be hanged! I never knowed a Sambo as was any use on board
ship. They howls when they're sick, and they're allers sick, and never
larns to tell a marlinspike from a belayin' pin."
"But Scipio isn't one of that sort. He's never sick, Mr. Diggle says;
they've been several voyages together, and Scipio knows a ship from stem
to stern."
"Scipio, which his name is? Uncommon name, that."
There was a new tone in Bulger's voice, and he gave Desmond a keen and,
as it seemed, a troubled look.
"Yes, it is strange," replied the boy, vaguely aware of the change of
manner. "But Mr. Diggle has ways of his own."
"This Mr. Diggle, now; I may be wrong, but I should say--yes, he's short,
with bow legs and a wart on his cheek?"
"No, no; you must be thinking of some one else.
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