A pair of cotton drawers, loose and ragged,
clothed him from waist to knee; above and below he was naked, save
for a broad hat of plaited straw that sheltered his unkempt golden
head from the rays of the tropical sun. At sight of him Nuttall
returned thanks aloud to his Maker. Pitt stared at him, and the
shipwright poured out his dismal news in a dismal tone. The sum of
it was that he must have ten pounds from Blood that very morning or
they were all undone. And all he got for his pains and his sweat
was the condemnation of Jeremy Pitt.
"Damn you for a fool!" said the slave. "If it's Blood you're
seeking, why are you wasting your time here?"
"I can't find him," bleated Nuttall. He was indignant at his
reception. He forgot the jangled state of the other's nerves
after a night of anxious wakefulness ending in a dawn of despair.
"I thought that you...."
"You thought that I could drop my spade and go and seek him for you?
Is that what you thought? My God! that our lives should depend upon
such a dummerhead. While you waste your time here, the hours are
passing! And if an overseer should catch you talking to me? How'll
you explain it?"
For a moment Nuttall was bereft of speech by such ingratitude.
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