"Stow that, ye —— —— —— apology for a —— —— —— ——," interrupted Martin mildly from the deck. "Why, any —— —— would ha' had more sense than you!"
"Like ——! I'm my own master, I am. I——"
"Ye may be when ye stand on the Walrus' deck, but here you're only another —— as doesn't know better'n to veer after——"
"Belay for a —— —— lackey, ye slab-faced chunk o' rotted sea-horse! I'll talk to your master!"
Slam went the door, and a mutter of curses rumbled from the companionway, preceding a tall, blue-jowled man in a flaming red coat all cobwebbed over with gold lace. He halted in the cabin entrance, hands on his hips, feet planted wide, close-set green eyes flickering balefully on either side of a long nose that seemed to poke out from a tangle of lank, black hair.
"Back, eh, Murray?" he snarled. "Two men the richer for your effort. Gut me, 'twas a fool's errand!"
"Pardon me," objected Murray, "but I am considerably more than 'two men the richer' in consequence of my run ashore—although I would not appear by these words to deprecate the importance to be attached to the acquisition of my grandnephew and Master Corlaer. Permit me, Captain Flint! Master Ormerod, my grandnephew, and Peter Corlaer."
And to me, aside:
"I fear these introductions must become boring. We shall require no more."
Flint scowled at us, flinging himself into a chair at the opposite end of the table from my great-uncle.