The man who had secured Vince sulkily obeyed, and the captain looked on till the line was untied, leaving the boys’ wrists with white marks round and blackened swellings on either side.
“Ah, he is a fool,” said the captain, taking up first one and then the other hand. “Vy you do not squeak and pipe ze eye?”
Vince frowned, but made no reply.
“Zere, valk down to ze boat vis me. Say you vill not run avay.”
“No: I mean to escape,” said Vince.
“Bah! It is sillee. You cannot, mon garçon. Come, ze parole d’honneur. Be a man.”
Vince glanced at Mike, who gave him an imploring look, which seemed to say: “Pray give it.”
“Yais,” said the captain, smiling: “Parole d’honneur. If you try to run il faut shooter zis time.”
“Parole d’honneur for to-day,” said Vince. “After to-day I shall try to escape.”
“It is bon—good,” said the captain, laughing. “After to-day—yais. Zere, valk you down to ze boat. I like you bose. If you had been cry boy, and go down on your knees, and zay, ‘Oh, pray don’t,’ I kick you. En avant!”