andle._)

DUKE: Hi, there, for'ard! Batten yer hatch! Yer blowin' the gizzard
out o' us.

[Illustration: "Yer blowin' the gizzard out o' us"]

(_He hobbles on timber leg to the warm chair by the fire. Patch closes
the door and sits. Darlin' relights the candle._)

PATCH: Poor Flint! He was took on jest such a night.

Dropped inter the Port Light fer somethin' wet and warmin'. Jest ter
kinder say goodby. Ship all fitted out. He 'd got three new
sailormen--fine fellers as had been sentenced ter be hanged fer
cuttin' purses, but had been let go, as they had reformed and wanted
ter be honest pirates.

DUKE: I remembers the night, ol' sea-nymph. It was rainin' ter put out
the fires o' hell--with the leetle devils stoakin' in the sinners. It
's sinners, Patch, as is used fer kindlers, ter keep the devils in a
healthy sweat.

PATCH: He was ter sail when the tide ran out. Lord a Goody! How the
tide runs down the Thames, as if it were homesick fer the ocean!

DUKE: But someone squealed.

PATCH: Squealers is worse 'n hissin' reptiles. They ketched Flint and
they strung him to a gibbet. Poor ol' dear! I never touches me patch,
but I thinks o' Flint.

DUKE: This here life is snug and easy. We has retired from practice,
like store-keepers does who has made a fortin. Ain 't we settin' here
in style and comfert, and jest waitin' fer the treasure ships ter come
ter us? We gets the plums without chawin' at the dough. We blows out
the lighthouse, and we sets our lantern so as ter fool 'em on the
course, and when they smashes on the rocks, well--all we does is stuff
our pokes with the treasure that washes up. I prays meself fer fog and
dirty weather. Now I lay me, says I, and will yer send it thick and
oozy?

PATCH: I ain 't disputin' yer. (_He cheers up a bit._) And we robs
landlubbers once in a while.

DUKE: Now yer talkin', ol' sea-lion. I 'm tellin' yer it were a good
haul we made last night on Castle Crag.

PATCH: Who 's disputin' yer?

DUKE: I 'm tellin' yer. Silver candles! And spoons! Never seen such a
heap o' spoons.

PATCH: What 's anyone want more 'n one spoon fer? Yer cleans it every
bite agin the tongue.

DUKE: Yer disgusts me, Patch. Yer ain 't no manners. Fer meself I
spears me food tidy on me knife.

(_The Duke sits looking at the seaman's chest at the rear of the
cabin. He is deep in thought._)

DUKE: There 's jest one leetle thing I does n't understand. I asks
yer. (_He goes to the chest, opens