When the last “Your servant, sir” had been spoken, I asked the pirate surgeon whether his voyage had prospered. He answered grimly that they had gotten more blood than purchase; whereupon Burke clapt him on the shoulder for a “jolly leg and joint-carver for Jack Shark.”
“But come, Frank,” says Burke, turning to me and crooking his arm in mine, “come you for a jaunt with me. It’s long since we had sweet converse, you and I; and Mr. Ambrose, I’ll warrant, will not be hard hearted enough to withhold ye!”
“Nay,” says Ambrose, “you may take your jaunt for me.”
“Give me leave,” hereupon thrust in the pirate, and would have taken my other arm; but I stepped on one side and put him off: whereupon he laid hold on Burke instead.
Now, it was evident that Burke was willing to converse me in private, and wanted none of the other; yet he was so nice and genial by nature, that to tell the man plainly so, he would not, but must be still mincing the matter, throwing out one glancing hint or another, which upon the tough hide of the pirate proved but glancing indeed.
But I, who could not away with such trifling, put a period to it presently.
“Mr. Harper,” says I (for such was the pirate’s name), “Two are company, three are none. ’Tis an old saying.”
He stared at me; then he flared up.
“What mean you by that, you prating fool?” cried he.
“I mean,” quoth I, “since you’re so dull, that your room is better than your company.”