"What's it for?" I called out, pointing to his needle-gun.
"What's it for?" he mimics. "What d'y' think it's for?"
I shake my head. "I could never guess."
"Well, you will soon. You know me?"
"I do. And you know me?"
"I know you, and I'll take no chances with you. I'm going to heave you a line and take you in tow."
"I don't remember flying any signals for a tow."
"No? Well, I think you'd be better off for a tow. Take my line."
"We don't want your line."
"Take my line or I'll blow a few holes in you, and while you're on your way to the bottom of the straits--all hands of you--I'll ram you to make sure."
"You're foolish to sink us," I says, "till you take off the ambergris and the sealskins."
He began to get mad. "Take my line or take a shell from this gun. Which is it?" he yells.
