"As I was saying," said he, "I goes on board, and some of the fellows had left one of the boats afore fixing the tarpaulin down. I gets inside there, and I hears somebody say: 'I see you! I'll get the police to you!'"
The Inquisitive One unconsciously ducked his head into his shoulders, and the edges of his eyes narrowed. The word "police" always affected him like that. Jack took on the expression of someone who does what is called "looking the other way." He became blank.
"But I thought I knew the voice," continued Michael. "I says: 'Is that you, Jim Larson?'"
"It was a friend, was it?" a tense listener exploded.
Michael looked with his one eye at the interrupter.
"So he fastens up the tarpaulin," said he, "and there I stays till we drops Ireland, and I tell ye I was wantin' something to eat. So I puts my hand over the gunwale, and loosens them ropes, and——"
One of the men at this came a little closer, cunning and critical.
"—I comes on deck, and oh there was a——"
Michael's vocabulary broke down at this, and with a lot of by-thises and by-thats, he gave it to be understood that a bo'sun and a third officer told him that they would clap him in irons, that the skipper ordered him to be swung over the side in a cradle and start in chipping, and that he said he wouldn't go. At this point Michael looked up at the insidious critic.
"Oh, well, indeed," he hurriedly went on, "I did a bit of painting for them, and my friend on board gives me a chance to slip the coppers at Montreal."