“Couldn’t get back last night,” said Jude as they came on board. “Left it till sundown, and then I was afeard of the current.”
“Afeard of the dark,” said Satan. “I reckoned that’d be so—whar’s your eggs?”
“Gone phut. Smashed the lot. Wasn’t more than a hatful. Them rotten gulls had given up nesting, all but at the ends—and say, Satan, I saw a wuzzard! I was carrying the eggs when I saw him, and then I ran and smashed the lot.”
“A which?”
“A hant—little old chap walking on the sands. D’you remember the figurehead on that old bark they broke up last year at Havana,—man with a glass under his arm and the other arm wavin’ his hat? That was him plain as my eye. He up with his glass and I let one yelp. Rat’ll tell you: he saw me running.”
“Oh, git along—git along, you and your hants! I’d been countin’ on them eggs, and here you come back like a one-eyed skite with your yarns about hants. Why, you ought a had a boatful! Didn’t you see no turkles’ eggs?”
“Nope.”
“Well, come along down if you want some grub. I sighted you more’n an hour ago, and there’s coffee waitin’. D’ye see that?” He pointed to a new-washed jumper drying in the blazing sun on the rail.
“Well, I was het up,” said Jude, “or I’d have la’ndered it before I started.”
“Come along down,” said Satan.