“How are you, Darby?” shouted the skipper. “Call out that lazy rascal to open the lock.”
“I don't think he's at home, sir,” said Darby, as innocently as though he knew nothing of the reason for his absence.
“Not at home! The scoundrel, where can he be, then? Come, youngster,” cried he, addressing me, “take the key there, and open the lock.”
Until this moment, I forgot the character which my dress and appearance assigned to me. But a look from the piper recalled me at once to recollection; and taking up the iron key, I proceeded, under Darby's instructions, to do what I was desired, while Darby and the captain amused themselves by wondering what had become of Tim, and speculated on the immediate consequences his absence would bring down on him.
“Are you going with us, Darby?” said the captain.
“Faix, I don't know, sir,” said he, as if hesitating. “Ar there was any gentleman that liked the pipes—”
“Yes, yes; come along, man,” rejoined the skipper. “Is the boy with you? Very well; come in, youngster.”
We were soon under way again; and Darby, having arranged his instrument to his satisfaction, commenced a very spirited voluntary to announce his arrival. In an instant the cabin door opened, and a red-faced, coarse-looking fellow, in uniform, called out,—
“Halloo, there! is that a piper?”
“Yes, sir,” said Darby, without turning his face round; while, at the same time, he put a question in Irish to the skipper, who answered it with a single word.