He heard the popping of a motor-boat's engine far astern, and was cheered by the prompt conviction that pursuit was on. Therefore, he made haste to get in touch with the Polly's master. He scrambled inboard along the bowsprit and fumbled his way aft over the piles of lumber, obliged to move slowly for fear of pitfalls, Once or twice he shouted, but he received no answer, He perceived three dim figures on the quarter-deck when he arrived there—three men. Captain Candage was stamping to and fro.
“Who in the devil's name are you?” bawled the old skipper. “Get off'm here! This ain't a passenger-bo't.”
“I'll get off mighty sudden and be glad to,” retorted Mayo.
“Well, I'll be hackmetacked!” exploded Mr. Speed shoving his face over the wheel. “It's—”
“Shut up!” roared the master. “How comes it you're aboard here as a stowaway?”
“Don't talk foolishness,” snapped Captain Mayo “Your old martingale spikes hooked me up. Heave to and let me off!”
“Heave to it is!” echoed Oakum Otie, beginning to whirl the tiller.
Captain Candage turned on his mate with the violence of a thunderclap. “Gad swigger your pelt, who's giving off orders aboard here? Hold on your course!”
“But this is—”
“Shut up!” It was a blast of vocal effort. “Hold your course!”