"I have been thinking," went on Ostag Semmel, slowly. "Can I trust you?"
"You know you can."
"You do not love the captain—do not love that Russell?"
"Do I act as if I did?"
"Good! Now, how many on board of this ship?"
"Fourteen men, counting in ourselves."
"You count fairly. Fourteen, how many are our friends?"
"Postnak and Conroy, at least."
"Then we are four, so far. Now, what of Groot and Shamhaven and Jack Wilbur?"
"Groot is a good fellow and a man who wishes to make money."
"And Shamhaven will do almost anything for money—he once told me so. He took a sailor suit from a store in Manila without paying for it."
"I know that too. The tailor was rich and didn't need the money," and Peterson gave another coarse laugh.
"Then we are six—to stand up for our rights. And Jack Wilbur will make seven just half the number on the ship."
"How can we count that Wilbur in? He is a Yankee."
