If yer willin' ter lend a 'and, overtime you'll
get, too. But you'll keep yer mouth shut, or clear. One or t'other. It's
up ter you ter choose."
Cleek laughed.
"Call me a fool, matey--but not a damned fool!" he said pleasantly. "Bill
Jones knows what side 'is bread's buttered on, I kin tell yer! Soft job
like this one wot we've nicked on ter ain't goin' ter slip through 'is
fingers fer a little tongue-waggin'. I'm on, mate."
"Righto."
"What's the job?"
"Loadin' up boats fer cargo."
"Oh!... Contraband, eh, matey?"
"That's none uv yer business, my man, and as long as you remembers that,
you'll 'old yer job; no more, no less."
"Beg pardon, I'm sure. But I bin in the same sort uv thing meself--out in
Jamaica. Used ter smuggle things through the customs. Nifty business it
were, too, and I almost got caught twice. But I slipped it somehow. Just
loadin' is our game, then?"
"_Jist loadin'_," responded Black Whiskers significantly. "'Ere we are.
Now then, get ter work. See them tubings over there? Well, they've got to
be carried over to that fishin'-smack drawn up against the dock.
Pages:
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285