“Oh, it isn’t that,” replied Vince. “He fancies we should do something while they’re busy—get a boat down, slip on board the other lugger or whatever it is.”
“He needn’t fancy that,” said Mike. “Frying-pan’s bad enough; I’m not going to jump into the fire and try that!”
“Nor I either. Well, shall we turn in?”
“May as well: I don’t want to stop up and listen to a gang of smugglers loading and unloading their stupid cargo.”
“Nor I, Ladle. I say, what a shame it is of old Jacques to be living now, instead of a hundred years ago! Poor old chap, you won’t get any plunder after all!”
“I don’t see that it’s right to be trying to make fun of our trouble,” said Mike bitterly; “there’s the poor old Crag only a few miles away, and we’re shut up here!”
“Don’t take any notice,” said Vince: “I say all sorts of things I don’t mean. No chance of getting away to-night, is there?”
“No—not even to drown ourselves by trying to swim away,” said Mike, with a sigh; and they hardly spoke again.