“Then you lie,” exclaimed our hero, in a rage. “I am a gentleman, sir—I am sorry I cannot pay you the same compliment.”
The astonishment and rage of Captain Tartar took away his breath. He tried to speak, but could not—he gasped and gasped, and then sat or almost fell down in his chair—at last he recovered himself.
“Matthews—Matthews!”
“Sir,” replied the coxswain, who had remained at the door.
“The sergeant of marines.”
“Here he is, sir.”
The sergeant entered, and raised the back of his hand to his hat.
“Bring your marines in—take charge of these two. Direct you are on board, put them both legs in irons.”
The marines with their bayonets walked in and took possession of our hero and Gascoigne.
“Perhaps, sir,” replied Jack, who was now cool again, “you will permit us to pay our bill before we go on board. We are no swindlers, and it is rather a heavy one—or, as you have taken possession of our persons, you will, perhaps, do us the favour to discharge it yourself;” and Jack threw on the table a heavy purse of dollars. “I have only to observe, Captain Tartar, that I wish to be very liberal to the waiters.”