Darby plucked at his sleeve.
"I'll say naught if ye must put Peter away—though a good friend I ha' called him. But be aisy wi' Master Bob and let me take him below for a sup for old times' sake. Troth, there's no harm in nature in him. And if he has a chance at education in the right way 'tis a fine, brave pirate we'll make o' him that can fight two men at once wi' knife and tomahawk."
Flint's eyes narrowed.
"Ho-ho!" he exclaimed. "Is that the kind of cockerel ye are, Master Ormerod or whatever ye may be called? I'm main thankful for the tip-off, Darby. I knew Buckskin was dangerous, but I'd never ha' been on my guard for the young 'un, except for you. Gut me, if I take chances wi' two such champions!"
I saw that Darby was doing more harm than good by his sponsoring of me, so I spoke up for myself.
"You need not take what the boy says for truth," I said. "He means well, but——"
"And if I didn't see ye knock the hatchet from Tom Trumbull's hand the while ye were fending Dick Varje's knife—and could easily ha' stabbed him, fightin' earnest, as Peter said—may I be hornswoggled for a lubber!" proclaimed Darby indignantly.
"That's enough for me," snarled Flint. "No lies, if it please you, my fine gentleman! The time may come we'll put your boasts to——
"I have not boasted."
"Keep your tongue behind your teeth! Hold still, the two o' ye, or I'll give ye a bellyful o' pickling-brine."