As she glided away from us, with her crew collected astern, to climb up and watch us, grinning and making derisive gestures, Barkins suddenly swung round the telescope, slipped the strap over his head, adjusted it to the proper focus, as marked by a line scratched with the point of a penknife, and raised it to his eye, when, to my astonishment, I saw all the Chinamen drop down out of sight.
“Yes, she’s a tea-boat,” said Double B decisively, “and heavily laden. I wish she had pirates on board.”
“Why?” cried Smith. “They’d kill all the crew.”
“And then we should kill them, make a prize of the junk, and have a lot of tin to share. Bother this glass, though! I wish I hadn’t brought it.”
“Why?” said Smith; “we shall have some good views from up yonder, when we get to the hills at the back of the town.”
“Ain’t got there yet. It’s so heavy and clumsy, and the sun’s going to be a scorcher.”
“I’ll carry it, Tanner,” I said.
“You shall, my boy,” he cried, as he closed it up, and rapidly slipped the strap off his shoulder again. “Catch hold. Mind, if you lose it, I value it at a hundred pounds.”
“Say five while you’re about it, Tanner,” cried Smith. “Why, it isn’t worth twopence—I mean I wouldn’t give you a dollar for it. But I say, my lads, look here, what are we going to do first?” continued Smith, who was in a high state of excitement, though I was as bad. “Start off at once for a walk through the city?”
“Shouldn’t we be mobbed?” I said, as I slung the heavy glass over my shoulder.