“‘Well,’ replied Black Pedro, ‘what do you want?’

“‘Cap’n, it’s this way.  You know me.  I’ve been your bo’s’n an’ yer father’s an’ yer grand-father’s afore him, ever since the ‘Angel’ was built, an’ afore that, too.  Why, some on us can remember way back to the days of the ‘Panther,’ when you wa’n’t knee-high to a cutlash.  Me, an’ Mike the Shark, here, an’ Sandy Buggins, an’ Roarin’ Pete, an’ some on us has stuck to the ‘Angel’ since the day she was built.  There aint any on us but has seen more’n twenty years sarvice with you or yer father.  Now some on us got talkin’ over things today, and talkin’ ‘bout the big haul o’ treasure we made last v’y’ge from that there ‘Santa Maria.’  An’, o’ course, big haul as it was, it aint nothin’ at all to what’s buried right here on this island.  Why, all the loot that we’ve taken for sixty-five year is in the ground within half a mile of where we stand—­ all on it, way back to what we took outer that there ’Spirito Santo.”

“And old Halyard paused, and blushed a little, as he remembered the embarrassing incident of that day.

“‘Well,’ said the Captain, ‘go on.’” ’"Well, sir, all on a suddent like, it come over us:  what good is that there plunder a-doin’ of?’

“‘What good?’ asked Black Pedro.

“‘Yessir, what good?  There’s all that there gold an’ silver, an’ all them jooels an’ preshis stones an’ all them fine clo’es an’ what not, an’ what good is it all a-doin’ of, a-buried in the ground?  The book-keeper here, Mike the Shark, was a-reckonin’ up this morning, an’ a-addin’ this last lot o’ gold, an’ he tells us that ‘cordin’ to the ’greement the share of ev’ry man jack on us reckons up to a powerful big figger.’

“The book-keeper stepped forward.  ‘For each man,’ said he, ’the precise sum to date is nine hundred and sixty-six thousand, seven hundred and forty-three dollars, and twenty-two cents.’

“‘An’ all hard-earned money, too,’ said old Aaron; ’we’ve been a-sailin,’ an’ a-fightin’, an’ a-shootin’ folks, an a-stabbin’ on ‘em, an’ a-slittin’ of their wind-pipes, an’ a-walkin’ ’em on The Plank, for sixty-five year come the sixteenth o’ next August.’

“‘Well, what do you want?’ asked Black Pedro again.  His voice was low, but terrible.

“‘Why,’ said the bo’s’n, ’we’d like some of our share of the money, if it’s all the same to you.’

“‘And when you get it,’ continued the pirate chief, ’what do you propose to do with it?’

“‘Why, spend some on it, an’ buy some o’ the good things o’ life.  Look at us.  Like a lot of scare-crows, we be.  In rags, ev’ry one on us, ‘cept you,—­an’ your black velvet suit is lookin’ a leetle mite rusty, if you’ll ‘scuse an ol’ sailor-man, for speakin’ right out.  An’ we’d like somethin’ good to eat, an’ somethin’ good to drink.  Look at me:  risin’ eighty-six year, I be, an’ aint never tasted nothin’ all my life ‘cept salt-hoss, an’ ship-bread, an’ rum; never slep’ nowheres ‘cept in a hammock, an’ had to turn out on deck an’ stand watch in all kinds of weather.  An’ wuth today nine hundred an’ sixty-six thousand, seven hundred an’ forty-three dollars, an’ thirty-two cents.’