“It's all right,—quite right,” said Daly, wishing to stop details he never listened to with patience.
“It's a' right, I know weel enough,” said Sandy, querulously; “but it wad no be a' right av ye went yersel'; they 'd have a gude penny, forbye what I say.”
“And what say the fellows of this wind,—is it like to last?”
“It will blow hard from the west for three or four days mair, and then draw round to the north.”
“But we shall get to Liverpool before noon to-morrow.”
“Maybe,” said Sandy, with a low, dry laugh.
“Well, I mean if we do get there. You told them I 'd double the pay if we catch the American ship in the Mersey. I'd triple it; let them know that.”
“They canna do mair than they can do: ten pounds is as good as ten hundred.”
While this conversation was going forward, they had walked on together, and were now at the entrance door of the House, where a group of four persons stood under the shadow of the portico.
“Mr. Daly, I presume,” said one, advancing, and touching his hat in salutation. “We have waited somewhat impatiently for your coming.”