“No,” said Vince; “but he will have to soon.”
“I’m sorry for you, my lads—sorry for you,” growled Daygo; and a chill ran through both the boys, as they saw the Frenchman looking at them in a very peculiar way. “Sorry—yes, lads, but I did my best fer you, and so good-bye.”
“No, no,” cried Mike excitedly; “don’t go and leave us, Joe. Tell the captain here that if we say we’ll promise not to speak to any one about the place we’ll keep our words.”
Daygo shook his head.
“It’s o’ no use for me to say nothin’, Master Mike: he’s master here, and does what he likes. You hadn’t no business to come a-shovin’ yourself into his place.”
“It is not his place,” cried Mike indignantly; “it is my father’s property.”
“I arn’t got no time to argufy about that, my lad. He says it’s his, and all this here stuff as you sees is his too. Here, I must be off, or I shall lose this high tide and be shut-in.”
“No, no, Joe—stop!” cried Mike. “I’ll—”
“Hold your tongue, Ladle,” whispered Vince. “Don’t do that; they’ll think we’re regular cowards. Here you, Joe Daygo, if you go away and don’t give notice to Sir Francis or my father about our being kept here by this man—”
“Say the Capen or the skipper, my lad,” growled Daygo. “Makes him orkard if he hears people speak dis-speckful of him.”