“What did he say, Jerry?” inquired Prose, who stood by him on the gangway.
“A French vessel, deeply laden, Prose.”
“Bravo, Jerry!” said Prose, rubbing his hands. “We shall get some prize-money, I do declare.”
“To be sure we shall. It will give us twenty pounds at least for a midshipman’s share, for her cargo must be sugar and coffee. Only, confound it, one has to wait so long for it. I’ll sell mine, dog-cheap, if any one will buy it. Will you, Prose?”
“Why, Jerry, I don’t much like speculation: but, now, what would you really sell your chance for?”
“I’ll take ten pounds for it. We’re certain to come up with her.”
“Ten pounds! No, Jerry, that is too much. I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you five pounds.”
“Done,” replied Jerry, who was aware that a vessel in ballast would not give him thirty shillings, if Captain M— sent her in, which was very unlikely. “Where’s the money?”
“Oh, you must trust to my honour; the first port we go into, I pledge you my word that you shall have it.”
“I don’t doubt your word, or your honour, the least, Prose; but still I should like to have the money in my hand. Could you not borrow it? Never mind—it’s a bargain.”