Bethune grinned as he indicated his pilot jacket, which was shrunk and stained by salt-water, and his old sea-boots.
“Our get-up’s hardly smart enough for a yacht’s saloon; and I’ve a notion that it might be wiser to stay where we are. Still, we’ll have to see him before long, and you’d better write a civil refusal; though I’m afraid we can’t match his decorative stationery.”
Jimmy tore a leaf out of his notebook and scribbled a few moments with a pencil. Then he read to his comrades:
“Mr. Farquhar and his friends regret their inability to leave their boat, but would esteem Mr. Clay’s company if he cares to visit them.”
“Bully!” exclaimed Bethune. “You’ve sealed it with a thumb-mark, and—well, we haven’t an envelope.”
When the gig’s crew rowed away with the note the three men gathered together in the little cabin.
“Will he come, do you think?” Moran asked.
“Oh, yes; but he’ll take his time, and get his supper first comfortably,” Bethune replied. “I’m rather anxious about the thing, because if he doesn’t come we can look out for trouble.”
“If that’s what he wants, he’ll get it,” Moran drawled, from his corner on a locker.
Jimmy sat smoking in thoughtful silence. He had learned that Clay was cunning and unscrupulous; and, if worse came to worse, they were cut off from any outside help by leagues of lonely sea. Their enemy had a strong crew who were, no doubt, well paid and ready to do his bidding; for Jimmy knew that Clay would not have sailed on such an errand with men he could not trust. The sloop’s party would be hopelessly outmatched if he used force; and it would be difficult to obtain redress afterward, because they were only three in number, and all interested in the undertaking, while Clay would have many witnesses, who could claim to be independent. The situation needed careful handling, and Jimmy was glad that Bethune was on board. For all that, if things came to the worst, Clay should not find them easy victims.