"I was just telling Mrs. Travers I didn't trust you--not
altogether. . . ."
"I know all about it," interrupted Lingard, contemptuously. "You carry
a blamed pistol in your pocket to blow my brains out--don't you? What's
that to me? I am thinking of the brig. I think I know your sort. You
will do."
"Well, perhaps I might," mumbled Carter, modestly.
"Don't be rash," said Lingard, anxiously. "If you've got to fight use
your head as well as your hands. If there's a breeze fight under way. If
they should try to board in a calm, trust to the small arms to hold them
off. Keep your head and--" He looked intensely into Carter's eyes; his
lips worked without a sound as though he had been suddenly struck dumb.
"Don't think about me. What's that to you who I am? Think of the ship,"
he burst out. "Don't let her go!--Don't let her go!" The passion in his
voice impressed his hearers who for a time preserved a profound silence.
"All right," said Carter at last. "I will stick to your brig as though
she were my own; but I would like to see clear through all this. Look
here--you are going off somewhere? Alone, you said?"
"Yes. Alone."
"Very well. Mind, then, that you don't come back with a crowd of those
brown friends of yours--or by the Heavens above us I won't let you come
within hail of your own ship.
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