"What a boat!" laughed Bastianello. "A baby can upset her and it takes a
dozen boys to right her again!"
"Whose is she?" enquired Ruggiero idly, as he filled his pipe.
"She? She belonged to Black Rag's brother, the one who was drowned last
Christmas Eve, when the Leone was cut in two by the steamer in the Mouth
of Procida. I suppose she belongs to Black Rag himself now. She is a
crazy old craft, but if he were clever he could patch her up and paint
her and take foreigners to the Cape in her on fine days."
"That is true. Tell him so. There he is. Ohe! Black Rag!"
Black Rag came down the pier to the two brothers, a middle-aged,
bow-legged, leathery fellow with a ragged grey beard and a
weather-beaten face.
"What do you want?" he asked, stopping before them with his hands in his
pockets.
"Bastianello says that old tub there is yours, and that if you had a
better head than you have you could caulk her and paint her white with a
red stripe and take foreigners to the Bath of Queen Giovanna in her on
fine days. Why do you not try it? Those boys are making her die an evil
death."
"Bastianello always has such thoughts!" laughed the sailor.
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