“I didn’t know you were so observant,” replied Helena demurely. “But only three.”
“It is not enough,” said I. “Go on, and write your other messages for succor. Use each bottle, and we shall have more emptied for you, if you like. You shall have oil bottles, vinegar bottles, water bottles, wine bottles, all you like. Yon varlet might run across one, floating, it is true. I hope he will. Methinks ’twould bid him speed. But all in vain would be your appeal, for swift must be the craft that can come up with Black Bart now. And desperate, indeed, must be the man would dispute his right to tread these decks.”
“I hope you are enjoying yourself,” said Helena scornfully. “Don’t be silly.”
“Will you have tea, Helena?” I asked.
“Poor, dear Mr. Davidson!” sniffed Aunt Lucinda, taking a glance out the port into the black night. “I wonder where he is, and what he will say.”
“I can tell you what he will say, my dear Mrs. Daniver,” said I; “but I would rather not.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what I say,” snorted Aunt Lucinda. “I think this joke has gone far enough.”
“It is no joke, madam. I was never so desperately in earnest in all my life.”
“Then put us ashore at Baton Rouge.”
“I can not. I shall not.”