"Why, you will reduce me to the
disagreeable necessity of blowing out your brains, if you have any,
as I should judge that you had not, after your refusal to accede to my
request in the face of the death that awaits you."
"I beg your pardon, Captain Flanger, but do you really purpose to blow
out the brains of your figure-head?" asked Christy, as coolly as though
no such threat had been suggested to him.
About this time Dave, who had taken care to keep in the front of the
table as he had been ordered to do, seized upon his feather duster, and
began to dust the divan on the starboard side of the cabin. Flanger was
so much occupied with the commander at that moment, that he was not
disposed to take his eye off him for an instant; for certainly the
situation had become critical, and he paid no attention to the steward.
Dave was a sort of a feather-duster fiend, and he used the article a
great deal of his time, apparently as much from habit as from
cleanliness.
"I should be extremely sorry to put a ball through your head, Captain
Passford, not only because it would disfigure a handsome face, but
because you may be of great use to me," replied the pirate.
"And because, in your present enterprise as you have outlined it, you
cannot get along without me," said Christy.
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