[Enter the PIRATE CHIEF.

PIRATE CHIEF (with a flourish).  Gentles, your servant.  Commodore Crookshank, at your service.  Better known on the Spanish Main as One-eared Eric.

OLIVER.  Glad to meet you, Commodore.  I’m—­er—­ Two-toed Thomas, the Terror of the Dyaks.  But you may call me Oliver, if you like.  This is my sister Jill—­the Pride of the Pampas.

PIRATE CHIEF (with another bow).  Charmed!

JILL (politely).  Don’t mention it, Commodore.

OLIVER.  My sister wants to marry you.  Er—­carry on. (He moves a little away from them and lies down.)

JILL (sitting down and indicating a place beside her).  Won’t you sit down, Commodore?

PIRATE CHIEF.  Thank you, madam.  The other side if I may.  I shall hear better if you condescend to accept me. (He sits down on the other side of her.)

JILL.  Oh, I’m so sorry!  I was forgetting about your ear.

PIRATE CHIEF.  Don’t mention it.  A little discussion in the La Plata river with a Spanish gentleman.  At the end of it I was an ear short and he was a head short.  It was considered in the family that I had won.

(There is an awkward pause.)

JILL (shyly).  Well, Commodore?

PIRATE CHIEF.  Won’t you call me Eric?

JILL.  I am waiting, Eric.

PIRATE CHIEF.  Madam, I am not a marrying man, not to any extent, but if you would care to be Mrs. Crookshank, I’d undertake on my part to have the deck swabbed every morning, and to put a polish on the four-pounder that you could see your pretty face in.

JILL.  Eric, how sweet of you.  But I think you must speak to my brother in the library first.  Oli-ver!

OLIVER (coming up).  Hallo!  Settled it?

JILL.  It’s all settled, Oliver, between Eric and myself, but you will want to ask him about his prospects, won’t you?

OLIVER.  Yes, yes, of course.

PIRATE.  I shall be very glad to tell you anything I can, sir.  I think
I may say that I am doing fairly well in my profession.

OLIVER.  What’s your ship?  A sloop or a frigate?

PIRATE.  A brigantine.

JILL (excited).  Oh, that’s what Oliver puts on his hair when he goes to a party.

OLIVER (annoyed).  Shut up, Jill!  A brigantine?  Ah yes, a rakish craft, eh, Commodore?

PIRATE (earnestly).  Extremely rakish.

OLIVER.  And how many pieces of eight have you?

PIRATE.  Nine thousand.

OLIVER.  Ah! (To JILL) What’s nine times eight?

JILL (to herself).  Nine times eight.

OLIVER (to himself).  Nine times eight.

PIRATE (to himself).  Nine times eight.

JILL.  Seventy-two.

PIRATE.  I made it seventy-one, but I expect you’re right.

OLIVER.  Then you’ve seventy-two thousand pieces altogether?

PIRATE.  Yes, sir, about that.

OLIVER.  Any doubloons?