Mike had not the heart to say “So am I,” though he felt that he ought to have done so; but, catching sight of the old fisherman leaning over the bulwark forward, he said instead,—
“There’s that old wretch again! Oh, how I should like to—”
He did not say what, but turned his back upon him in disgust.
“Yes—a beauty!” said Vince, scowling. “I say, Mike, no wonder old Joe was always so well off that he never had to work. Pst! here’s the skipper.”
“Non, mon ami—ze capitaine. Eh bien—ah, vell! you are on board again. I sall lock you down upon ze powdaire again and keep you prisonaire? My faith, no! It is vord of honnaire to-day, and to-day last vingt-quatre heures—till zis time to-morrow: you understand?”
“Yes,” said Vince; and then, frankly, “I beg your pardon, skip—”
“Eh?”
“Captain,” said Vince quickly: “I beg your pardon, captain, for calling you a coward.”
The Frenchman looked at him searchingly, and then clapped down both hands on the boy’s shoulders and held him firmly.
“Bon!” he said; “bon! Zat is all gone now. I sall not call you out and say vill you have ze pistol or ze arm blanc—ze sword. You bose come dine vis me ce soir—zis evening, and you not make fool of ze comestible, as ve call him, eh? Now go valk about ze deck. You like to see ze vay out? No; ve leave all zat to my good ami, Joseph Daygo. He take ze Belle-Marie out to sea vile ve dine. It is ze secret know only to Joseph. I could not do him myselfs.”