“Perhaps we had better say no more about that with an enemy present.”
Fitz was in the act of helping himself to some more of the hot bread, but at the skipper’s words he flushed warmly, put down the cake without taking out of it a semi-circular bite, and rose from his seat.
“I don’t wish to play the spy, sir,” he said haughtily. “I will go on deck till you have finished your business.”
“Sit down!” cried the skipper. “Sit down! What a young pepper-castor you are! Mayn’t a man think what he likes in his own cabin?”
“Certainly, sir; but of course I cannot help feeling that I am an intruder.”
“That’s just what I feel, my boy, for coming in and disturbing you at your meal. Sit down, I say. If anybody is going to leave the room, I am that person; but I am not going to leave my cabin, so I tell you.”
The skipper gave his son a peculiar look, his eyes twinkling the while.
“Think we can trust Mr Burnett here?” he said.
Fitz gave a start.
“Oh yes, father. He won’t go and tell tales. He won’t have a chance. What was in that letter?”