"Where are we going?" Joe asked the Cockney, in an endeavor to be friendly
and at the same time satisfy his curiosity.
"Oh, my pardner 'ere, Bill, we 're goin' to take a cargo from 'is factory,"
that worthy airily replied.
Joe thought he was rather a funny-looking individual to own a factory;
but, conscious that even stranger things might be found in this new
world he was entering, he said nothing. He had already exposed himself
to 'Frisco Kid in the matter of his pronunciation of "fo'c'sle," and
he had no desire further to advertise his ignorance.
A little after that he was sent in to blow out the cabin lamp. The
_Dazzler_ tacked about and began to work in toward the north shore.
Everybody kept silent, save for occasional whispered questions and
answers which passed between Bill and the captain. Finally the sloop
was run into the wind, and the jib and mainsail lowered cautiously.
"Short hawse," French Pete whispered to 'Frisco Kid, who went for'ard
and dropped the anchor, paying out the slightest quantity of slack.
The _Dazzler's_ skiff was brought alongside, as was also the small boat
in which the two strangers had come aboard.
"See that that cub don't make a fuss," Bill commanded in an undertone,
as he joined his partner in his own boat.
"Can you row?" 'Frisco Kid asked as they got into the other boat.
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