“No, I do not,” said I.
“Well, of course he can vamoose with the entire speculation, if he chooses,” pursued the captain, “and if he don't I can't see but what you've got to support and bed and board with him to the end of time. I guess it would weary me. Then there's Mr. Pinkerton, of course. He's been a good friend to you, hasn't he? Stood by you, and all that? and pulled you through for all he was worth?”
“That he has,” I cried; “I could never begin telling you my debt to him!”
“Well, and that's a consideration,” said the captain. “As a matter of principle, I wouldn't look at this business at the money. 'Not good enough,' would be my word. But even principle goes under when it comes to friends—the right sort, I mean. This Pinkerton is frightened, and he seems sick; the medico don't seem to care a cent about his state of health; and you've got to figure how you would like it if he came to die. Remember, the risk of this little swindle is all yours; it's no sort of risk to Mr. Pinkerton. Well, you've got to put it that way plainly, and see how you like the sound of it: my friend Pinkerton is in danger of the New Jerusalem, I am in danger of San Quentin; which risk do I propose to run?”
“That's an ugly way to put it,” I objected, “and perhaps hardly fair. There's right and wrong to be considered.”
“Don't know the parties,” replied Nares; “and I'm coming to them, anyway. For it strikes me, when it came to smuggling opium, you walked right up?”
“So I did,” I said; “sick I am to have to say it!”
“All the same,” continued Nares, “you went into the opium-smuggling with your head down; and a good deal of fussing I've listened to, that you hadn't more of it to smuggle. Now, maybe your partner's not quite fixed the same as you are; maybe he sees
