“If you’ll walk round by the cliff I’ll come part of the way with you,” he said ill-humouredly.
“Will you?” I cried. “Come along, then.”
I did not let him see it, but I had felt all the time that Master Bob meant to come. He had played that game so many times that I knew him by heart. I knew, too, that he was wonderfully fond of the sword practice, in which he had taken part whenever he could, and to get a shot with a pistol or a gun gave him the greatest pleasure.
“He won’t come away till it’s all over,” I said to myself; and we walked on round by the high track watching the ships going up to Bristol, till all at once, as we rounded the corner leading into the Gap, Bob exclaimed:
“Why, there’s old Jonas’s boat coming in!”
“Where?” I said dubiously.
“Why, out there, stupid!” cried Bob, pointing north-west.
“What! That lugger?” I said. “No, that’s not his. He went out four days ago, and isn’t expected back yet. That’s more like the French lugger we rode in—Captain Gualtière’s.”
“Yah! Nonsense!”
“Well, but it is,” I said. “That has three masts; it’s a chasse marée. Jonas’s boat has only two masts—a regular lugger.”