“But we are not at war with Don Villarayo’s State.”
“No,” said Poole, “and Villarayo is not at war with our schooner and the men, but if he begins giving us Olivers he must expect to get Rolands back. Those who play at bowls, you know, must expect rubbers, and when Englishmen rub, they rub hard.”
Fitz half turned away to look astern. “I say,” he said, “aren’t they a long time coming?”
“No; they had a long way to row.”
“Seems a long time. Perhaps they have thought better of it and gone back.”
“Think so? Well, I don’t. They are sure to come. But I dare say it will be a good quarter of an hour yet—perhaps half.”
“Well,” said Fitz, “for my part, I—” He stopped short, and Poole looked at him curiously.
“Well?” he said. “You what? What were you going to say?”
“Nothing. You’d only think that I was afraid.”
“Oh, I know,” said Poole. “You were going to say that you hope it won’t turn out serious. I shouldn’t think that you were afraid. I feel just the same. But you may make up your mind for one thing. We are in the strongest position, and Villarayo’s sailors won’t be allowed to take the Teal. If it comes to bloodshed, it’s their doing, mind, and not ours. Now, don’t let’s talk any more.”