“Nay, mate,” returned Ben, “not you. You’re a good boy, or I’m mistook; but you’re on’y a boy, all told. Now Ben Gunn is fly. Rum wouldn’t bring me there, where you’re going⁠—not rum wouldn’t, till I see your born gen’leman, and gets it on his word of honor. And you won’t forget my words: ‘A precious sight’ (that’s what you’ll say), ‘a precious sight more confidence’⁠—and then nips him.”

And he pinched me the third time with the same air of cleverness.

“And when Ben Gunn is wanted you know where to find him, Jim. Just where you found him today. And him that comes is to have a white thing in his hand; and he’s to come alone. Oh! and you’ll say this: ‘Ben Gunn,’ says you, ‘has reasons of his own.’ ”

“Well,” said I, “I believe I understand. You have something to propose, and you wish to see the squire or the doctor, and you’re to be found where I found you. Is that all?”