“Eh? Dew yew mean give myself up as a prisoner?”
“Yes, of course, sir.”
“Then why didn’t yew say so, mister, and not talk in that windy-bag way?”
“Disarm the others, my lads,” cried Bob. “Now you sir,” he continued to Mark, “give up your sword.”
“Shan’t.”
“What?”
“I’m not going to give it up to yew. Tell ’em to send an orfycer, not one of the ship’s boys.”
“You insolent hound!”
“If yew call me a hound again, squaire, I’ll kinder punch your head,” said Mark, quietly.
“What!” cried Bob, trying to give his prisoner a shake, but shaking himself instead. “If you dare to say that again, sir, I’ll have you clapped in irons. Here, my lads, bring ’em all out, and let’s have a look at the hang-dog scoundrels.”