I was ship's boy
aboard."
"Mighty queer ship's boy!" said Mr. Johnson in an audible aside. "The
Good Intent's a villainous interloper; how came you aboard of her?"
"I was in a sense tricked into it, sir, and when we got to Gheria Captain
Barker and Mr. Diggle, the supercargo, sold me to Angria."
"Sold you to the Pirate?"
"Yes, sir."
"And where do you hail from, then?"
"Shropshire, sir; my father was Captain Richard Burke in the Company's
service."
"Jupiter! You're Dick Burke's son! Gad, sir, give me your hand; I knew
Dick Burke; many's the sneaker of Bombay punch we've tossed off together.
No nonsense about Dick; give me your fist.
"And so you sneaked out of Gheria and sailed this grab, eh? Well, you're
a chip of the old block, and a credit to your old dad. I want to hear all
about this. And you'll have to come ashore and see the governor."
"It's very kind of you, Mr. Johnson, but really I can't appear before the
governor in this rig."
He glanced ruefully at his bare legs and feet and tattered garments.
"True, you en't very shipshape, but we'll soon alter that. Ever use a
razor?"
"Not yet, sir," replied Desmond with a smile.
"Thought not. Plenty of native barbers. You must get shaved. And I'll rig
you up in a suit of some sort. You must see the governor at once, and no
nonsense."
"What about the grab, sir?"
"Leave that to me. You've got a pretty mixed crew, I see. All escaped
prisoners, too?"
"All but four.
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