“Look here, my lads,” cried Jack, turning his back to Mazzard, and ignoring the threatening gesture he made with a knife; “look here, my lads; it is not for any man to say he will be your captain. My brave brother is dead—”
“God rest him!” cried Dinny.
“And it is for you to choose someone in his place. Do you select Black Mazzard?”
“No,” roared Dinny, “the divil a bit! Three cheers, me boys, for the bowld little Commodore Junk!”
The crew burst into a roar, even those who had favoured Mazzard being carried away.
“A lad who was niver afraid of anny man’s pishtle,” cried Dinny, leaping on a cask and waving his cap.
“Hurrah!” shouted the men, enthusiastically.
“A lad who has only wan failing in him.”
“Hurrah!” came in chorus, and a voice cried: “What’s that, Dinny?”
“Faix, his mother made a mistake and let him be born out of Oireland.”