The £10, however, revived their drooping spirits.
They called for whatever they liked in eating and drinking, and the time passed very rapidly.
Most of the Dozen had got well nigh tipsy before the hour of midnight, and were very noisy.
However, when they had their fill, old Bates called a council of war.
“Look to your weapons, my merry men,” said he; “see that your pistols are well loaded, and that your swords are not blunt—we’ve got a job on hand to-night.”
“A job!” said all, in high glee.
“Yes, and one that will pay us well—get yourselves sober, every one of you.”
“What is it?”
“Are the doors closed?” said Bates. “No one listening, I hope?”
“Not a soul,” said one and all. “What is the job?”