“Why, yes.”
“The boys won’t never consent to it while the whisky jug is inside, as they happen to know it is.”
“Go in and get the jug and help yourselves. Here’s the key to the locker,” replied Mudd, thrusting his hand into his pocket, adding:
“No, by Jove, it isn’t, either. I must have left it in the pocket of my other coat. Come on in and we’ll all have a drink.”
“But what about the boy?” asked Tony.
“Oh, tumble him over on the ground. He can’t get up with his hands tied.”
“Yes he can, too.”
“Then tie his feet into the bargain and make sure. We won’t be gone ten minutes anyhow.”
And this was just the way they served poor Dick.
Tied hand and foot, he lay there on the shore of the lake filled with anxiety for his friends and forced to listen to the drunken songs and wild shouts of Mudd and his crew inside the hut.