“Yes,” McBain said, “and a priceless one too. They will more than pay for our trip north.”
“What a valuable old fellow that Seth is, to be sure!” Ralph remarked; “I really don’t know what we would have done without him.”
There was a pause, during which neither the captain nor Ralph, nor Allan was idle, as the music of their knives and forks could testify; but poetic Rory was leaning his chin upon his hand, and evidently his thoughts were far away.
“I say, boys,” he said, at last, “if I had lived in the days of yore—some hundreds of years ago, you know—do you know what I should have liked to have been?”
“No,” said Ralph; “something very bright, I’ll wager my gun. More coffee, steward.”
“I’d have been,” continued Rory, “a wandering merchant-minstrel.”
“A what!” cried Ralph, looking up from his plate.
“He means a packman,” said Allan.
“No,” said Ralph; “he means a hawker.”
“Oh! bother your hawkers and your packmen!” cried Rory; “sure, you send all the romance out of the soul of me! You serve me as the colleens served the piper, who was playing so neat and so pretty, till—