"Oh—ho!" said I, thinking of Rebecca's father, and beginning to understand who supplied money for Ben Gillam's ventures.
"I'm tired o' being a kick-a-toe and fisticuff to everybody. Now, if I'd been rich and had a ship, I might 'a' sailed for M. Picot."
"Or Mistress Hortense," I added, which brought red spots to the sailor lad's cheeks.
Off he went unanswering, leaving me at gaze across an unbroken sea with a heart heavy as lead.
"Poor fellow! He will get over it," said I.
"Another hath need o' the same medicine," came a voice.
I wheeled, expecting arrest.
A tall, wiry man, with coal-black hair and deep-set eyes and a scar across his swarth skin, smiled pleasantly down at me.
"Now that you have them safely off," said he, still smiling, "better begone yourself."
"I'll thank you for your advice when I ask it, sir," said I, suspicious of the press-gang infesting that port. Involuntarily I caught at my empty sword-belt.