"And speak Spanish?"

"A little bit, sir, as you see; I learn languages easily."

He stared straight into my face, but, without uttering another word,
turned on his heel and went below. Whether, or not, I had made an
impression on the fellow I did not know. His face was a mask perfectly
concealing his thought. That he had appeared interested enough to
question me had in it a measure of encouragement. He would surely
remember, and sometime he might have occasion to make use of me. At
least I would no longer remain in his mind as a mere foremast hand to
be kicked about, and spoken to like a dog. I went back to my polishing
of brass in a more cheerful mood--perhaps this would prove the first
step leading to my greater future liberty on the _Namur_. I had
finished my labor on the carronade, and was fastening down securely
the tarpaulin, when a thin, stoop-shouldered fellow, with a hang-dog
face crept up the ladder to the poop, and shuffled over to where
LeVere was gazing out over the rail, oblivious to his approach.

"Mister LeVere, sir," he spoke apologetically, his voice no more than
a wisp of sound.

The mulatto wheeled about startled.

"Oh, it's you! Well, what is it, Gunsaules?"

"Senor Estada, sir; he wishes to see a sailor named Gates in the
cabin."