“But you worked your passage out here as a sailor?” whispered Abel.
“Ay, and she could do it, too—as good a sailor as ever took in sail; and, Mary, lass, I asks your pardon for laughing; and if I wasn’t such a big ugly chap, I could lie down there and cry.”
He held out his great coarse hand, in which Mary placed hers to return his honest clasp, and her eyes smiled for a moment into his, while Abel sat frowning and biting his lips as he glanced at Dinny.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said, hesitatingly. “It seems—”
“Heigh—ho—ho! Oh, dear me!” cried Dinny, opening his eyes suddenly, making Mary start and Abel mutter a curse.
There was only one of the two equal to the emergency, and that was Bart, who gave his knee a sounding slap and cried aloud—
“Jack Dell, my lad, you’ve behaved like a trump, and got us away splendid. I on’y wish, Abel, I had such a brother. Hallo, soger, where shall we set you ashore?”
“Set me ashore?” said the Irishman, nodding at Mary; “what for?”
“What for?” cried Bart. “To go back.”
“I’m not going back,” said the Irishman, laughing. “Sure, I want a change.”