“I have it now,” said the Spaniard haughtily.
“Then they will all come over to your side.”
“You will come with me ashore?” said the Don.
“Yes; but when shall you want to sail? To-morrow—the next day?”
“Within an hour,” cried the Spaniard, “or as soon after as I can. I must strike, as you English say, while the iron is in the fire.”
“Well, that’s quick enough for anything,” whispered Fitz.
The two lads stood watching the departing barge, with the skipper by the President’s side, and then turned to go aft to the cabin.
“This is rather a bother,” said Fitz. “I should have liked to have gone ashore and seen the banquet, and gone up the country. I am getting rather sick of being a prisoner, and always set to work. But—hullo, Chips!”
“Just one moment, sir; and you too, Mr Poole.”
“Yes; what is it?”