“Well, now, I’ll tell you what you must do, Mr. Green,” said the captain.
“In the first place,” said I, “I must protest that I’m now locked up here illegally.”
“Oh, bother; now don’t make yourself unaisy.”
“That’s all very well, Captain——. I beg your pardon, Sir, but I didn’t catch any name plainly except the Christian name.”
“My name is Macdermot—Tom Macdermot. They call me captain—but that’s neither here nor there.”
“I suppose, Captain Macdermot, the police here cannot lock up anybody they please, without a warrant?”
“And where would you have been if they hadn’t locked you up? I’m blessed if they wouldn’t have had you into the Lough before this time.”
There might be something in that, and I therefore resolved to forgive the personal indignity which I had suffered, if I could secure something like just treatment for the future. Captain Tom had already told me that Father Giles was doing pretty well.
“He’s as sthrong as a horse, you see, or, sorrow a doubt, he’d be a dead man this minute. The back of his neck is as black as your hat with the bruises, and it’s the same way with him all down his loins. A man like that, you know, not just as young as he was once, falls mortial heavy. But he’s as jolly as a four-year old,” said Captain Tom, “and you’re to go and ate your breakfast with him, in his bed-room, so that you may see with your own eyes that there are two beds there.”
“I remembered it afterwards quite well,” said I.