Amos was tipsy, but not so tipsy that he could not catch a hidden meaning in the words. He turned on Smythe.
“Now,” he snarled, “if you want the boat burned and you want me to do it, how much’ll you pay for that job? Quick, answer up.”
Mr. Smythe raised his thin hands.
“My dear Broadcrook,” he smiled, “you talk like a crazy man. Colonel Hallibut is a friend of mine; a fast friend. I advised him not to send his schooner into Lee Creek. He laughed at me and offered to wager me three hundred dollars that no harm could possibly come to his boat. In a moment of indiscretion I took his wager.”
Mr. Smythe rubbed his hands softly together and raised his eyes ceilingward.
“I know I did wrong,” he went on; “I know a Christian man should not bet. But I wished Colonel Hallibut to know that I was greatly concerned in the welfare of him and his.”
He sighed, and glanced at Amos.
“I would not touch money won in a wager; no, sir. And to prove it to you, Amos, my friend, I will pay you over the money, providing my prophecy be fulfilled,—which, let us hope, it may not,” he added devoutly.
Broadcrook lurched, and fixed his good eye on Smythe’s pensive face, then, after another drink from the bottle, he picked up his rifle and made for the door. With his hand on the latch he turned.
“You’ll be expectin’ news, then?”