‘A lovely thing, Sir.’
‘We are well rewarded in it for our enterprise?’
‘Very well rewarded, Sir.’
‘And, so it could last continually, we might count ourselves the very blest of Providence?’
‘God’s ’slid, Sir—I think so.’
‘Look you, Master Clerivault! is not that a Spanish sail under the sun?’
Clerivault spun round. Brion scrambled to his feet:—
‘Where, Tony—where, o’ God’s name?’
‘No, I was mistaken: it was a mosquito on my nose. But, how thankful we should be!’
Brion threw himself upon him and the two struggled and rolled on the deck together. Presently Tony emerged, and, sitting up dishevelled, blew out an eldritch shriek, at the moment that a party, coming from the cabin, set foot on the poop.