“No, no, Barney, I didn’t take his money.”
“Ah, well, I don’t know nothing ’bout that. But here’s the gate. On you go first.”
“No; go on first with Pan.”
“And let you shoot off.”
“Am I not on parole?”
“Ay, ay. Forgetted that. Now then, you swab; on with you.”
As Barney led the way towards the front door, Sydney noticed that there was a light in the dining-room, whose windows were open, the weather being still warm and fine.
“Stop, Barney,” he said, after a sudden thought, “we’ll go in there through the window.”
“Nay, my lad, nay,” said the boatswain; “it’ll look as if I was spellin’ arter a glass o’ wine.”
“Never mind. I’ll go first, and you bring in Pan afterwards.”