“Oh, very well,” grunted the master. “If yew’ve got so much money to throw away, yew can dew it.”
“Hillo!” came from the fast-nearing boat, “what’s the matter?—sinking?”
“No,” roared the master. “Sinking indeed! What yer going off and leaving all your passengers behind for?”
“Oh,” said a gruff voice, “it’s them.”
It was the skipper of the schooner who spoke, and a quarter of an hour later we were on board his vessel, waving our caps to the master and his two sturdy fisher-lads, as, with their shortened sails now filling, the boat began to glide rapidly back, while the schooner’s head was turned once more for the open sea.
“Thought you warn’t coming,” said the skipper, gruffly, after seeing that the little boat was swinging safely from the davits.
“Yes, it was a close shave,” replied Gunson, who hardly spoke again to us, but went below; and soon after we two were fast asleep, forgetful of all the past troubles of the day.