“One or nothing,” he cried to the man, in French.
“Quatre! Quatre!” shouted the man.
Rodd shook his head and was turning away, but the boatman swarmed up the side, and reaching over the rail, shouted “Quatre!” again, till the skipper made so fierce a rush at him that he lowered his feet quickly down into his boat, catching the shilling that Rodd pitched to him, and then hurriedly pushing off for the landing-place.
“Oh, it’s all right, Dr Robson,” said the skipper, “only you must leave all this shore-going to me. I know my lads; you don’t.”
Just then Craig, the mate, came up on deck, looking very sour at having been awakened from a comfortable sleep, and did not scruple about setting the delinquents to work upon some very unnecessary task, to the great delight of their messmates, who, headed by Joe Cross, gave them pretty freely to understand what their opinion was of the scheme to get a run ashore.
It was towards evening that, after a hasty meal, partaken of in peace in the still waters of the harbour, tempted by a few gleams of sunshine, and for Rodd’s gratification, Uncle Paul and Rodd were rowed ashore in the same boat as the skipper, who had business with the English Consul about his papers, the understanding being that the boat was to go back and meet them at nine o’clock.
“That’s as long as we shall want to stay, Rodd,” said Uncle Paul.
“Yes, sir,” said the skipper; “and if I were you I’d turn in early for a good night’s rest, for I’m thinking we shall have dirty weather again to-morrow, and there’s no knowing how long it will last.”
“But it looks so bright to-night,” cried Rodd.
“Just here, sir,” cried the skipper, “and it may be fine enough to tempt me off in the morning; but I don’t feel at all sartain, and to-morrow night we may be having another knocking about.”