“Yes, sir, and make sailors on us, and your uncle’s yard ’ll go to rack and ruin; and there was two screws out o’ one o’ the shutter hinges as I were going to put in to-day.”
“Jem, we must escape them.”
“All right, Mas’ Don, sir. ’Arter breakfast.”
“Breakfast? Who is to eat breakfast?”
“I am, sir. Feels as if it would do me good.”
“But we must escape, Jem—escape.”
“Yes, sir; that’s right,” said Jem, taking off the cup, and sniffing at the jug. “Coffee, sir. Got pretty well knocked about last night, and I’m as sore this morning as if they’d been rolling casks all over me. But a man must eat.”
“Eat then, and drink then, for goodness’ sake,” cried Don impatiently.
“Thankye, sir,” said Jem; and he poured out a cup of steaming coffee, sipped it, sipped again, took three or four mouthfuls of bread and butter, and then drained the cup.
“Mas’ Don!” he cried, “it’s lovely. Do have a cup. Make you see clear.”