His accounts, no doubt, were being carefully overhauled.

In actual time, two days and two nights had passed; to David it seemed many ages.
On the third day he crawled to the stern, where there seemed less motion, and finding a boat's cushion threw it in the lee scupper and fell upon it.

From time to time the youth in the golf cap had brought him food and drink, and he now appeared from the cook's galley bearing a bowl of smoking soup.
David considered it a doubtful attention.
But he said, "You're very kind.

How did a fellow like you come to mix up with these pirates ?" The youth laughed good-naturedly.
"They're not pirates, they're patriots," he said, "and I'm not mixed up with them.

My name is Henry Carr and I'm a guest of Jimmy Doyle, the captain." "The barkeeper with the derby hat ?" said David.
"He's not a barkeeper, he's a teetotaler," Carr corrected, "and he's the greatest filibuster alive.