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roughened and reddened and lined in his long travels. His eyebrows were very
black, and moved readily, and this gave him a look of some temper, not bad, you
would say, but quick and high.
"Come in, Mr. Dance," says he, very stately and condescending.
"Good evening, Dance," says the doctor with a nod. "And good evening to you,
friend Jim. What good wind brings you here?"
The supervisor stood up straight and stiff and told his story like a lesson; and
you should have seen how the two gentlemen leaned forward and looked at each
other, and forgot to smoke in their surprise and interest. When they heard how my
mother went back to the inn, Dr. Livesey fairly slapped his thigh, and the squire
cried "Bravo!" and broke his long pipe against the grate. Long before it was done,
Mr. Trelawney (that, you will remember, was the squire's name) had got up from
his seat and was striding about the room, and the doctor, as if to hear the better,
had taken off his powdered wig and sat there looking very strange indeed with his
own close-cropped black poll.
At last Mr. Dance finished the story.
"Mr. Dance," said the squire, "you are a very noble fellow. And as for riding
down that black, atrocious miscreant, I regard it as an act of virtue, sir, like
stamping on a cockroach. This lad Hawkins is a trump, I perceive. Hawkins, will
you ring that bell? Mr. Dance must have some ale."
"And so, Jim," said the doctor, "you have the thing that they were after, have
you?"
"Here it is, sir," said I, and gave him the oilskin packet.
The doctor looked it all over, as if his fingers were itching to open it; but
instead of doing that, he put it quietly in the pocket of his coat.
"Squire," said he, "when Dance has had his ale he must, of course, be off on his
Majesty's service; but I mean to keep Jim Hawkins here to sleep at my house, and
with your permission, I propose we should have up the cold pie and let him sup."
"As you will, Livesey," said the squire; "Hawkins has earned better than cold
pie."
So a big pigeon pie was brought in and put on a sidetable, and I made a hearty
supper, for I was as hungry as a hawk, while Mr. Dance was further
complimented and at last dismissed.
"And now, squire," said the doctor.
"And now, Livesey," said the squire in the same breath.
"One at a time, one at a time," laughed Dr. Livesey. "You have heard of this
Flint, I suppose?"
"Heard of him!" cried the squire. "Heard of him, you say! He was the
bloodthirstiest buccaneer that sailed. Blackbeard was a child to Flint. The
Spaniards were so prodigiously afraid of him that, I tell you, sir, I was sometimes
proud he was an Englishman. I've seen his top-sails with these eyes, off Trinidad,
and the cowardly son of a rum-puncheon that I sailed with put back put back,
sir, into Port of Spain."
"Well, I've heard of him myself, in England," said the doctor. "But the point is,
had he money?"
"Money!" cried the squire. "Have you heard the story? What were these villains
after but money? What do they care for but money? For what would they risk
their rascal carcasses but money?"
"That we shall soon know," replied the doctor. "But you are so confoundedly
hot-headed and exclamatory that I cannot get a word in. What I want to know is
this: Supposing that I have here in my pocket some clue to where Flint buried his
treasure, will that treasure amount to much?"
"Amount, sir!" cried the squire. "It will amount to this: If we have the clue you
talk about, I fit out a ship in Bristol dock, and take you and Hawkins here along,
and I'll have that treasure if I search a year."
"Very well," said the doctor. "Now, then, if Jim is agreeable, we'll open the
packet"; and he laid it before him on the table.
The bundle was sewn together, and the doctor had to get out his instrument
case and cut the stitches with his medical scissors. It contained two things a
book and a sealed paper.
"First of all we'll try the book," observed the doctor.
The squire and I were both peering over his shoulder as he opened it, for Dr.
Livesey had kindly motioned me to come round from the side-table, where I had
been eating, to enjoy the sport of the search. On the first page there were only
some scraps of writing, such as a man with a pen in his hand might make for
idleness or practice. One was the same as the tattoo mark, "Billy Bones his fancy";
then there was "Mr. W. Bones, mate," "No more rum," "Off Palm Key he got itt,"
and some other snatches, mostly single words and unintelligible. I could not help
wondering who it was that had "got itt," and what "itt" was that he got. A knife in
his back as like as not.
"Not much instruction there," said Dr. Livesey as he passed on.
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