“I say, skipper,” said the captain laughingly to me, “mind that Malay chap don’t get out; and look here, it will be dark directly, hyste a light for me to find my way back.”
I nodded shortly, and stood with Jack Penny and the doctor watching the boat till it seemed to be swallowed up in the thick darkness that was gathering round, and the doctor left Jack Penny and me alone.
“I say,” said Jack, who was leaning on the bulwarks, with his body at right angles; “I say, Joe Carstairs, I’ve been thinking what a game it would be if the captain never came back.”
“What!” I cried.
“You and I could take the ship and go where we like.”
“And how about the doctor?” I said scornfully.
“Ah!” he drawled, “I forgot about the doctor. That’s a pity. I wish he’d gone ashore too.”
I did not answer, for it did not suit my ideas at all. The adventure I had on hand filled my mind, and I felt annoyed by my companion’s foolish remark.
We had tea, and were sitting with the doctor chatting on deck, after vainly trying to pierce the darkness with our eyes or to hear some sound, when all at once the doctor spoke:
“Time they were back,” he said. “I say, Skipper Carstairs, have you hoisted your light?”