“O’ course it’s so. So now, thing fer us fellows to do, is just to put it before ’em plain, an’ get ’em both to leave it to us two fellers what’s right fer ’em both to do. Now, I think they’d ought to get married, both of ’em—I mean to each other, you know. Folks does get married.”
“Black Bart would,” said Jean Lafitte. “I’ll bet anything. The fair captive, she’s a heartless jade, but I seen Black Bart lookin’ at her, an’——”
“An’ I seen her lookin’ at him—leastways a picture—an’ says she, ‘Jimmy——’”
“Jimmy!” It was I, myself, red and angry, who now broke from my unwilling eavesdropping.
The two boys turned to me innocently. I found it difficult to say anything at all, and wisest to say nothing. “I was just going to ask if you two wouldn’t like to take the guns and go out after some more ducks—especially the kind with red heads and flat noses, such as we had yesterday. And I’ll lend you Partial, so you can try for some more of those funny little turtles. I’ll have to go out to the ship, and also over to the lighthouse, before long. The tide will turn, perhaps, and at least the wind is offshore from the island now.”
“Sure, we’ll go.” Jean spoke for both at once.
“Very well, then. And be careful. And you’d—you’d better leave your auntie and her auntie alone, Jimmy—they’ll want to sleep.”
“You didn’t hear us sayin’ nothin’, did you, Black Bart?” asked L’Olonnois, suspiciously.
“By Jove! I believe that’s a boat beating down the bay,” said I. “Sail ho!” And so eager were they that they forgot my omission of direct reply.
“It’s very likely only the lighthouse supply boat coming in,” said I. “I’ll find out over there. Better run along, or the morning flight of the birds will be over.” So they ran along.