Martin and Toglet were very white when they reached the sloop, and the younger man trembled from head to foot.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Martin, with a forced laugh, as they got on board.
"No—nothing," stammered Toglet.
"You've got a bad case of the shakes."
"Well, to tell the truth, that's the worst job I ever tackled, although I've accomplished many that were tough enough."
"Humph! you'll get over that feeling when you are as old as I am," replied Martin, heartlessly. "What's the boy to us?"
"Oh, I ain't squealing. Only he looked so innocent——"
"Bah! don't give me any more of that stuff. Here, have something to brace you up."
Martin pulled a black flask from his pocket and thrust it forward. Toglet drank copiously, as if to drown out the memory of what had occurred. Martin followed with an equally liberal dose.
"It was done easier than I at first imagined it would be," said the latter. "Had he suspected the least thing we would have had a nasty struggle with him."