“Yah! it’s a’ doon me back—it’s a’ doon me back,” snarled the bailiff, stamping with fury, as he dashed the water out of his hat, and wrung his clothes, to the great delight of his men as well.
“Ye shall a’ pay for this!” he shouted, as he waved the wet paper he held. “Ye’ll know ye’re reseesting the law.”
“Come and have another shower-bath!” cried Max.
“Yes, you want it!” roared Kenneth. “Bring some more ammunition. Hi, Tonal’, play up, auld mon!”
“Fecht, laddies, fecht!” shouted back the old piper, as he took the piece from his lips for a moment.
“Yes, we’ll fecht!” cried Kenneth.
“Gin ye come here, ye togs, she’ll slit a’ yer weams!” yelled Scoodrach excitedly; and then there was a pause, for the bailiff was holding a consultation, and then he pointed down to the beach.
“What’s he pointing at?” said Kenneth, as his followers placed fresh ammunition—the wet and the dry—ready.
“I know,” cried Max. “That old bit of a mast.”
“What, the broken topmast of the wreck?”