"Yes" (I had told him how nearly I had missed our ship-money).
"To your boat, and ransack the cabin till we locate that coin."
"That's too risky."
"Hell, take a chance, can't you?"
That's what Hoppner was always saying as long as we travelled together: "Hell, take a chance."
But when I began telling him with convulsive laughter, of the revenge I had taken on the mate ... and also how I had thrown all the keys overboard, Hoppner, instead of joining in with my laughter, struck at me, not at all playfully, "What kind of damn jackass have I joined up with, anyhow," he exclaimed. "Now it won't be any use going back, you've thrown the keys away and we'd make too great a racket, breaking open things...."
He insisted, however, on going back to his own boat, sliding down to the rowboat, and rowing away with the loot he had cast into it. We had no sooner reached the prow of the Lord Summerville than we observed people bestirring themselves on board her more than was natural.
"Come on, now we'll beat it. They're after me."
Hoppner had also brought a blanket. We went "humping bluey" as swagmen, as the tramp is called in Australia.
The existence of the swagman is the happiest vagrant's life in the world. He is usually regarded as a bona fide seeker for work, and food is readily given him for the asking. Unlike the American hobo, he is given his food raw, and is expected to cook it himself. So he carries what he calls a "tucker bag" to hold his provisions; also, almost more important—his "billy can" or tea-pot....