"Great Harry! If Black Davis were to catch the nipper at that game he'd kill him," mused Jack; and thinking that the performance had gone quite far enough, he drew himself under the fife-rail with the silence of a stalking Apache, and then suddenly pounced on the boy, clapping one hand over his mouth to prevent any cry of alarm.
"Hush, not a sound!" he hissed, as he took his hand from the kid's mouth.
"Don't split on me, Derringer, don't split on me. I'll never do it again, so help me bob," half blubbered the terrified urchin.
"Honest Injun?" inquired Jack.
"Honest Injun!" repeated the boy.
"Well, I'll pull you through this time; but don't breathe a word of this to another soul aboard," said Jack softly.
"Be sure I won't," whimpered the kid.
"Right! Now we've got to slip into that crowd there without them spotting that we've not been there the whole time; savvy, youngster? Keep your pecker up and mum's the word," whispered the rover.
"Hang me, but the lad's got nerve, and I like the look of him, too," he thought, as the pair of them stealthily joined the group of scared men.
"What's your name, kid?" asked Jack in an undertone, whilst the bosun was searching aloft.