“Yes; come along. You’re lucky: you’ve got a place all to yourselves.”
He led them aft, to where a small hatchway stood, close to that of the captain’s cabin, from whence the sound of voices came so loudly that, regardless of his companions’ presence, the man stood and listened.
“But I tell you I must go back, skipper,” said Daygo, “and it’s getting late.”
“Oui—yais, I know zat, mon ami,” said the captain; “but I have ze good pilot on board, and it is late and ver’ bad for him to go sail among ze rock and courant. I say it is better he sall stay all ze night, and not go run ze risk to drown himselfs. I cannot spare you. I have you, Daygo. You are a so much valuable mans. So I sall keep you till I sail.”
“Keep me?” growled Daygo.
“Yais. You sall eat all as mosh as you vish, and drink more as you vish, but you cannot go avay. It is not safe.”
There was the sound of a heavy fist brought down upon the table, and then the man, who had picked up a lanthorn, turned to them and said,—
“Down with you, youngsters!”
The boys obeyed, and the man followed.
“Old Daygo don’t like having to stay,” he said laughingly. “There you are, lads!—just room for you both without touching. Shall I leave you the lanthorn?”