“Will you go, Mr Preddle?” said the mate.
“If you like. I’ll do anything; but I’m afraid I couldn’t climb on board, I’m so fat and heavy, and, oh dear! I’m afraid that all my poor fish are dead.”
At any other time I should have laughed, but our position was too grave for even a smile to come upon my face. Instead of feeling that Mr Preddle was an object to excite my mirth, I felt a sensation of pity for the pleasant, amiable gentleman, and thought how helpless he must feel.
“You will have to go, Dale,” said Mr Brymer.
“Yes,” said Mr Frewen; “Dale will go for all our sakes.”
“When shall he go?” said the mate; “to-morrow night, after we have thrown Jarette off his guard by sailing right away?”
“It would not throw him off his guard,” cried Mr Frewen, excitedly. “The man is too cunning. He would know that it was only a ruse, and be on the watch. Dale must go to-night—at once. Who knows what twenty-four hours may produce?”
“Exactly,” said Mr Preddle.
“I quite agree with you,” replied the mate; “but I did not wish to urge the lad to attempt so forlorn a hope without giving him a little time for plan and preparation.”
“I’m ready,” I said, making an effort to feel brave as we sat there in the darkness. “I don’t think I could do better if I thought till to-morrow night.”