Ricardo ceased his ecstasies over the life-giving water and answered in
a tone of innocence:
"He? You may call him a man, but his hide is a jolly sight tougher than
the toughest alligator he ever skinned in the good old days. You don't
know how much he can stand: I do. We have tried him a long time ago.
Ola, there! Pedro! Pedro!" he yelled, with a force of lung testifying to
the regenerative virtues of water.
A weak "Senor?" came from under the wharf.
"What did I tell you?" said Ricardo triumphantly. "Nothing can hurt him.
He's all right. But, I say, the boat's getting swamped. Can't you turn
this water off before you sink her under us? She's half full already."
At a sign from Heyst, Wang hammered at the brass tap on the wharf, then
stood behind Number One, crowbar in hand, motionless as before. Ricardo
was perhaps not so certain of Pedro's toughness as he affirmed; for he
stooped, peering under the wharf, then moved forward out of sight. The
gush of water ceasing suddenly, made a silence which became complete
when the after-trickle stopped. Afar, the sun was reduced to a red
spark, glowing very low in the breathless immensity of twilight. Purple
gleams lingered on the water all round the boat. The spectral figure in
the stern-sheets spoke in a languid tone:
"That--er--companion--er--secretary of mine is a queer chap.
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