air was snow-white.

"Well, shipmate," he questioned, meeting my searching gaze, "and how
d'ye like me?"

"No whit!"

"Sink me, but that's plain enough!" says he, smiling ruefully. "So
there's nought in me as draws you, then?"

"No!"

"'Tis pity, for I've a feeling we shall sail aboard ship together yet."

"How should you know I've rowed aboard a Spanish ship?"

"You bear the mark, shipmate; as you lay a-groaning in your sleep I
took occasion to cast an eye over ye, d'ye see, and what wi' the
new-healed scars on your wrist, your sunburnt skin and the desperate
sink-or-swim look o' you I judged you new-broke from slavery, and named
a Spanish galleass at a venture, d'ye see."

"You are an observant man, it seems," says I, frowning.

"I have a way o' putting one and one together--'tis a trick I've found
useful now and then!"

"Ha!" says I, mighty scornful, "You'll be telling me my own name next!"

"Why, as to that," says he, pinching his long, clean-shaven chin
thoughtfully, "how would Conisby suit?"

"Damned spy!" I cried, and caught him in my grip; the fellow never so
much as flinched, and there was something formidable in his very
quietude.

"Easy all, shipmate!" says he mildly and staring up at me eye to eye.
"Use me kindly, for I'm a timid soul with a good heart, meaning no
offence."

"How learned ye my name? What devilry is here?"

"None in the world, Lord love ye! 'Tis just my trick of adding one and
one, d'ye see? There's the ring on your finger and the signboard above
you."

"And wherefore spy on a sleeping man?"

"Because I'm a lonely soul doth seek a comrade. Because the moment I
clapped eyes on you I felt drawn to ye, and seeing the scars on your
wrist, knew 'em for shackle-marks--and 'twas a bond betwixt us."

"How a bond?"

"Loose me, shipmate, and I'll show ye." Which done, he bared a long
and sinewy arm, discovering thereon marks of old fetter-sores like
those upon my own.

"So you've slaved at an oar, then?" says I.

"Aye, shipmate!"

"Endured the shame of stripes and nakedness and filth?"

"Aye, shipmate. And more, I've fought for my life on the Inca
Death-stone ere now, as you may see by my ears if you know aught of the
Maya Indians."

And here without so much as a "by your leave" he sat him down on the
bench beside me, and leaning forward began to trace idle patterns in
the dust with his stick.

"Shipmate," says he, "I'm a timid man--"

"As a snake," quoth I, "