“Well, quick! Here are two passengers to take ashore. Now, my lads—sharp!”
Vince and Mike shook hands with the officer, while a sailor at the gangway held on to the painter of Daygo’s boat, which was gliding pretty fast through the water, the course of the cutter not having been quite stopped; then the lads jumped lightly in, the painter was thrown after them, there was a slight touch of the helm, and the cutter heeled over and dashed away, leaving Vince and Mike looking the old man full in the face, while he stared back with his jaw dropped down almost to his chest.
“Then you arn’t dead, young gen’lemen?”
“No, we’re not dead,” said Vince sharply. “Now then, hoist that sail and run us home.”
The boys sat there watching the cutter, the lugger and the schooner all sailing rapidly away. Then suddenly it occurred to both the lads that the old man was very slow over the business of hoisting that sail; that he was then the greatest enemy they had, and that it would be very awkward for them if he were to suddenly take it into his head to do them some mischief.
“He’s a big, strong man,” thought Vince; “he knows that we can ruin him if we like to speak, and— I wonder what Ladle is thinking about?”
“Ladle” was thinking the same.