“Don’t talk so loud. Feel Eben’s head, and find out whether it has stopped bleeding.”
“Did just now, sir, and it about hev. But, I say, Master Aleck, I’m all in a squirm about you.”
“About me? Why?”
“You see, we don’t know hardly which way to turn, and I expects every minute to be running into one o’ the man-o’-war boats.”
“Well, if we do we do; but I think we can get right out, and it won’t be so dark then.”
“I b’lieve there’s a fog sattling down, sir, and if there is we shall be ketched as sure as eggs is eggs. I’m sorry for you, my lad, and I s’pose I’m sorry for Eben Megg, though we arn’t friends. Bit sorry, too, for myself.”
“Oh, they can’t hurt you, Tom.”
“Can’t hurt me, sir? Why, they’ll hev me up afore the magistrits, and cut me shorter than I am.”
“Nonsense!” said Aleck, with a laugh. “They don’t behead people now, and even if they did they wouldn’t do it for helping a pressed man to escape.”
“Tchah! I don’t mean that way, my lad. I mean chop off my pension, and—”