"Skipper Peter," says Tom, "you're rich, isn't you?"

"I got money," says Peter.

"Sittin' out here, all alone," says Tom, "you been thinkin' a deal,
you says?"

"Well," says Peter, "I'll not deny that I been havin' a little spurt
o' sober thought."

"You been thinkin' that money wasn't much, after all?"

"Ay."

"An' that all your money in a lump wouldn't buy you passage ashore?"

"Oh, some few small thoughts on that order," says Peter. "'Tis
perfectly natural."

"Money talks," says Tom.

"Tauntin' me again, Tom?"

"No, I isn't," says Tom. "I means it. Money talks. What'll you give
for my seat in the boat?"

"'Tis not for sale, Tom."

The lads begun to grumble. It seemed just as if Long Tom Lane was
making game of an old man in trouble. 'Twas either that or lunacy. And
there was no time for nonsense off the Gingerbread coast in a spring
gale of wind.

"Hist!" Tom whispered to the lads. "I knows what I'm doin'."

"A mad thing, Tom!"

"Oh, no!" says Tom. "'Tis the cleverest thing ever I thought of.
Well," says he to Peter, "how much?"

"No man sells his life."

"Life or no life, my place in this boat is for sale," says Tom. "Money
talks. Come, now. Speak up. Us can't linger here with night comin'
down."

"What's the price, Tom?"

"How much you got, Peter?"

"Ah, well, I can afford a stiffish price, Tom. Anything you say in
reason will suit me. You name the price, Tom. I'll pay."

"Ay, ye crab!" says Tom. "I'm namin' prices now. Look out, Peter!
You're seventy-three. I'm fifty-three. Will you grant that I'd live
t' be as old as you?"

"I'll grant it, Tom."

"I'm not sayin' I would," says Tom. "You mark that."

"Ah, well, I'll grant it, anyhow."

"I been an industrious man all my life, Skipper Peter. None knows it
better than you. Will you grant that I'd earn a hundred and fifty
dollars a year if I lived?"

"Ay, Tom."

Down come a gust of wind. "Have done!" says one of the lads. "Here's
the gale come down with the dark. Us'll all be cast away."

"Rodney's mine, isn't she?" says Tom.

Well, she was. Nobody could say nothing to that. And nobody did.

"That's three thousand dollars, Peter," says Tom.
"Three--thousand--dollars!"

"Ay," says Peter, "she calculates that way. But you've forgot t'
deduct your livin' from the total. Not that I minds," says he. "'Tis
just a business detail."

"Damme," says Tom. "I'll not be harsh!"

"Another thing, Tom," says Peter. "You're askin' me