“And whether they are bright blue half-way up the blade; you said your father’s sword was.”
“Yes,” I replied; “and inlaid with gold. It was given to him when he left his ship.”
“Here, come out!” cried Bigley, laying hold of my hand.
“Come out? What for?” I said.
“Because it’s the best way. I always run off when I see anything very tempting that I want to touch, and ought not to.”
“Get out!” I cried.
“I do, Sep, honour bright, and I feel now as if I should be obliged to undo some of those papers, and try the pistols, and pull the swords out of the sheaths. Let’s go out.”
I laughed, for I felt very much in the same way, only it seemed to be so cowardly to go, and Bigley came to the same way of thinking, the result being that we kept on picking up the different packages and feasting our imaginations by means of touch, till suddenly the door opened, and my father came in.