“No, Tom; we’re getting our share of it. I wouldn’t mind if Mr Howlett was here to have his taste.”
“My! how you can crow over him, sir, when we get back, eh?”
“Let’s get back first, Tom.”
“Oh, we’ll do that, sir, never you fear. That ain’t what I’m scared about.”
“Then what is?”
“Well, sir, I want to get back without killing anybody if I can, but when they come these games with us and hit hard as they do, it’s ’most more than flesh and blood can bear to have a cutlash and not use it. I know I shall make someone bleed with a cut finger ’fore I’ve done.”
There was so much meaning in the sailor’s words, and at the same time so droll a look in his eyes, that Mark could not forbear a smile.
“If it’s only a cut finger, Tom, I shan’t mind,” he said.
“That’s right, sir. Well, I think you might start back now, and we’ll get sail on. Sooner we’ve got these two into port the better I shall like it. I think I can manage, sir.”
“But I’ve altered my plans,” said Mark, thoughtfully.