“Oh, they’re getting right enough,” said Dinny. “Ye’ve been the worst of ’em all yerself, and if ye don’t make haste ye’ll be last.”
“But tell me, my lad, why am I kept in prison!”
“Tell ye why you’re kept in prison?”
“Yes.”
“An’ ye want to know! Well, divil a wan of us can tell, unless it’s the skipper’s took a fancy to ye bekase ye’re such a divil to fight, and he wants ye to jyne the rigiment.”
“Regiment! Why, you’ve been a soldier!”
“And is it me a sodjer! Why, ye’ll be wanting to make out next that I was a desarther when was only a prishner of war.” Humphrey sighed.
“Sure, and ye’re wanting something, sor. What’ll I get ye! The skipper said ye were to have iverything you wanted.”
“Then give me my liberty, my man, and let me go back to England—and disgrace.”
“Sure, and I wouldn’t go back to England to get that, sor. I’d sooner shtop here. The skipper’s always telling Bart to look afther ye well.”