“Steering westward, off and on Rhodes, looking out for the galley that carried the procurator’s plate. But this wind must send him in before morning,” was the answer of Hanno.
“Or send him to the bottom, where many as bold a fellow has gone before him,” whispered a tall, haggard-looking Italian to the answerer.
“That would be good news for one of us at least,” said Hanno. “You would have no reckoning to settle. Your crew made a handsome affair of the Alexandrian prize, and the captain might be looking for returns, friend Tertullus.”
“Then let him look to himself. His time may be nearer than he thinks. His haughtiness to men as good as himself may provoke justice before long,” growled the Italian, in memory of some late discipline.
Hanno laughed loudly.
“Justice!—is the man mad? The very sound is high treason in our gallant company. Why, comrade, if justice ever ventured here, where would some of us have been these last six months?”
The sound caught the general ear; the allusion was understood, and the Italian was displeased.
“I hate to be remarkable,” said he; “with the honest it may be proper to be honest; but beside you, my facetious Hanno, a man should cultivate a little of the opposite school in mere compliment to his friend. You had no scruples when you hanged the merchant the other day.”
A murmur arose in the hall.
The Philosophy of Robbers