“Nevertheless, it is just that,” said Joel. “It is that, and it is also a mistake. And—you are wise man enough to see this. There is still time to remedy the thing. It can be forgotten.”
Mark chuckled. “If that is true, you’ve a most convenient memory, Joel.”
Joel’s cheeks flushed slowly, and he answered: “I am anxious to forget—whatever shames the House of Shore.”
Mark threw back his head and laughed aloud. “Bless you, boy,” he exclaimed. “’Tis no shame to you to have fallen victim to our numbers.” But there was a heat in his tones that told Joel he was shaken. And Joel insisted steadily:
“It was not my own shame I feared.”
“Mine, then?” Mark challenged.
“Aye,” said Joel. “Yours.”
Mark bent toward him with a mocking flare of anger in his eyes; and he said harshly: “You’ve spoken too much for a small man. Be silent. And go below.”
Joel waited for an instant; then his shoulders stirred as though he chose a hard course, and he held out his hand and said quietly: “Give me the guns, Mark.”
Mark stared at him; and he laughed aloud. “You’re immense, boy,” he applauded. “The cool nerve of you....” His eyes warmed with frank admiration. “Joel, hark to this,” he cried, and jerked his head toward the captive Finch. “You’ve ripped the innards out of that mate of mine. I’ll give you the job. You’re mate of the Nathan Ross and I’m proud to have you....”