“Enough,” said I, “let me hear nothing of the cursed Giants or the yet more accursed Cubs, for I have more serious work afoot! Tell me, is there a bar cutting off the other end of the bayou; and how long is the bayou?”
“Sixteen miles,” answered the useful Lafitte, “an’ she seems like good water all the way. They say there’s seven foot on the bar, and the wood boats run in and out.”
“Good! And did you tell them who you were, and why you wanted gasoline?”
“No. I only said our automobeel was broke down, an’ we wanted the baseball scores. That was all. They ast who was we. I said you was John Doe—you see, I didn’t want to tell your real name, so I didn’t say Black Bart.”
“And you didn’t mention our boat?”
“Of course not! Whose business is it what pirates does? They strike hardest when least expected. To-night we can run in an’ rob the store, easy.”
“Jean!” I cried, horrified, “what do you mean? Let me hear no more such talk, or by my halidom! back you go to your home by first train. I’ll not be responsible for the ruin of any boy’s morals in this way.”
“Well what do you think about that, Jimmy!” said Jean, somewhat cast down and much mystified. “Ain’t we pirates, an’ don’t pirates live on booty?”
“Booty enough you have in your boat, Jean,” said I, “and let us get it aboard and in our tanks, for to-night we sail.”
“For to rob the store?” anxiously.