"Aye, aye, sir," assented Silver. "We ha' plenty o' stout manila. One o' you lads run back and get those coils I left by the stove. That's the proper spirit, Darby. Always willin'. You'll make a rare hand, you will. And how about makin' fast that gentleman as is goin' to stay behind, captain?"
Murray looked at my father, and from him to me.
"Have you reconciled yourselves to what I may justly style the inevitable?" he inquired suavely.
My father collapsed into his chair with a groan.
"If you will not suffer the boy to be hurt!" he exclaimed.
"My word of honor to that," returned my great-uncle very seriously. "His comfort and safety rank ahead of my own, Ormerod, for I anticipate that he is to achieve all those triumphs which fate denied me. 'Tis true I hope to sample them briefly, but—" and for the first time a shadow clouded his face—"I am, as you doubtless know, in my sixty-fourth year, and a fickle Providence, regarding the divinity of which I am inclined to share the skepticism of the French philosophers, is scarce likely to indulge me in a very prolonged extension of life's span. Nor indeed would I have it otherwise. I feel no inclination for the senility of extreme age."
My father eyed him with unaffected puzzlement.
"You are a strange man, Murray. I would I might understand you."
"You can not, so why concern yourself? Well, time passes. We must be off. Do you submit?"
My father bent his head.