"Hold on," exclaimed Mart as Bob impulsively started forward. "We don't aim to let you start any rough-house with us, Jerry. I don't trust you a little bit. Bob, you stand by while I help Jerry get his helmet on, then get the pump goin' while I slide him over the edge of the platform."
The quartermaster broke into a flood of eager words, which Bob abruptly cut short.
"Look here, Jerry! What about dad? Are they holdin' him prisoner on shore, like you said, or—or—"
He paused, and Jerry chuckled as he glanced up, his head on one side like that of a bird, his blue eyes suddenly bright again.
"No, no, lad! He's just taken care of, that's all. Mebbe we'll make a compromise yet, lads—you holdin' me and the yacht, and me holdin' your father, eh! Well, we'll see. Birch can get him off, lads. Birch talks the lingo, he does, and if anythin' happens to me, you talk to him."
This speech relieved the minds of both boys immensely. Half their fears had been for the men who had gone so trustingly into the jungle, to be held prisoners by the Malays, and now that they were sure no harm was being done Captain Hollinger, they felt much more inclined to deal gently with old Jerry.
"So when you promised dad that you'd have gold on board when he came back," said Bob with a slow grin, "you meant the treasure, eh?"
Jerry chuckled and nodded.
"Aye, lads, just that. But you'll mind the pumps, eh? You'll not let old Jerry go without air?"
"Sure not," Mart reassured him. "We'll take care of you fine, Jerry."