"Then here's a letter from his Lordship, which I fortunately have by me, requesting me to join his yacht. Read it yourself, and show it to your fellows as a proof of who I am." And he handed him the missive.
The sailor took it, ducked again, and retired silently, and there was presently a great shuffling of feet on the deck above.
"What do you think they're doing?" asked Violet.
"I trust they're coming to their senses—and if—" But his remarks were interrupted by a most terrific row overhead, shouts, blows, and curses.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the Bishop. "What can be the matter?"
"They're squaring accounts with Marchmont, Friend Othniel, and the mate, I guess," she replied, "and I hope they'll half kill them."
"Fie, fie! my dear Leopard—most unchristian. I must certainly go and—"
"No, you mustn't do anything of the sort! Stay right where you are. We're in hot enough water already." And suiting the action to the word, she pushed him back on to the divan.
"Well, really—!" remarked the Bishop, and collapsed amiably.
Presently the sounds of commotion ceased, and gave way to laughter, but laughter with a certain grim note in it that boded ill for those laughed at. After a little, there came another knock at the cabin door, and this time quite a deputation entered the saloon, the sailor who had first visited them being the spokesman.